


Trapped in Deja-vu

by Loverer



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Mush, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Romance, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-02-23 06:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 64,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13184451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loverer/pseuds/Loverer
Summary: It has been years since everything was sorted, all the routines and rhythms set. And now, they have to relive the whole thing again. Will it lead to the same ending this time around? Remains to be seen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always loved reading Fedal and Federer/anyone-else fics but I never tried writing anything myself (I've always had doubts about that particular ability). Last few days though I've developed a soft spot for Mirka and got a plot bunny with her in the center of the story. I don't know how you guys will like this, I wasn't sure myself being a die-hard Fedal fan! But I thought to give it a go... 
> 
> Also I would love to recommend reading "In you everything sank" if you haven't already from the Fedal fandom, because although not directly inspired (I had the Mirka-centered plot going for some time now) this one gave an inspiration for the general amnesia theme as I thought it was beautifully portrayed. Here's the link to check it out:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/11947827
> 
> I'm totally new to the world of writing fiction and AO3 and this is my first ever fic so please please please drop a comment, good and bad, all are welcome. Or if I've messed anything up please do let me know! 
> 
> I'm planning this to be a longer series, depending on how you guys like it... But here's the first two chapters for now
> 
> Here goes nothing...
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> This is a fragment of my wild and wondrous imagination and has no base in reality, as far as I know - hence the word ‘fiction’. I don't own/know the people I write about, sad as it is. In short, is not true!

Chapter 1  
For some reason, sleep would not come to him tonight. It had proven elusive, like a mirage; just when he thought he reached it, it pulled away from him. There was no reason, really. This was his first day, or rather night, off season. Something he looked forward to immensely. He had had an out-of-the-world season, a superb comeback and, to top it off, he had finished without any major injuries. So really, there was no reason at all why this niggling feeling of restlessness had chased him all day and evening, and now into the night. He lay there awake. Eyes tracing patterns on the ceiling, illuminated by the faintest hint of moonlight which seeped through the gap in the drawn curtains. Aware of the calm surrounding him and the ticking of the clock on the wall. Yes he had a clock on the wall, a Swiss Cuckoo clock, which he had set to only chime during the day. But it still made faint ticks at night, audible only when you really tried to hear them or if it was quiet enough, like right now. It was generally quiet in this little house he had purchased in the Swiss Alps, a home no one knew about, apart from Mirka, his parents, Seve, Ivan and Tony. A retreat, he liked to think of it, from the fast-spinning world around him. Something that would take them and offer them refuge and allow them to be who they were without worrying about spying cameras and enthusiastic fans. Just him, the Swiss country side and a particularly special someone. Thinking of which, he turned his head to face the other half of the king-sized bed.  
Beside him, Rafa slept blissfully. Rafa never had trouble falling into a deep slumber, as far as Roger could remember anyway. As much as Rafa was energetic when awake, he was quiet when asleep. He did not toss or turn. But just before falling asleep, he would fling an arm across Roger’s stomach, throw his right leg between Roger’s thighs and snuggle closer, anchoring his lover to himself for the rest of the night. Roger didn’t mind, of course. In fact, he loved it more than anything. Being so close to Rafa, sleeping with him the whole night and finding him warm and cosy in the morning, was something Roger could never get enough of. Especially on nights like these, when he was feeling emotional and restless, Rafa’s arm proved to be a valuable anchor to reality: that he was loved and no matter what he would always find Rafa by him. An assurance that kept him going through the night and stopped him from drifting too far away in his own thoughts.   
Roger snuggled closer to his lover, placing a soft kiss on his arm and, for the millionth time tonight, tried to fall asleep. He thought about how this thing with Rafa had ‘officially’ started, so many years ago, when suddenly every step had become cautious, every word measured and every glance a privilege. Everything was new and careful. Whereas prior to the ‘confessions’, everything was smooth and easy; banter and chatter had always been intrinsic to their friendship. But the awkwardness of a new realisation had taken its time to wane. It was funny almost, how they got along smoothly when they were ‘just friends’ and then it had all gone clumsy and shy when they decided to take it further. 2009 had triggered it all, that half hug Rafa had risked, on stage, in front of thousands and millions, had lit an unexpected fire inside Roger. Even through all those tears and emotions and disappointment, he remembers that particular sensation very well. A little something that he tried so hard to brush away. Of course, it had taken a very long time for that little spark to turn to a proper realisation, way too long. They fell for it eventually.   
Roger smiled as he felt those memories carry him to the embrace of sleep. Finally.  
Which is when, of course, his phone rang.   
Roger jerked up, disgruntled by the shrill tone that speared the serenity of the room. Frowning, he disentangled himself from Rafa enough to grab his phone from the nightstand. A glance at the Cuckoo told him it was two in the morning. His frown only deepened at that new piece of information.  
The screen showed a name: Mirka. Mirka? At 2 in the morning?  
“Hi, um… you okay?”  
His thoughts raced from apprehension to confusion to panic. Because that wasn’t Mirka voice on the other end. It was someone else entirely. It took him a moment to realise what was being said and yet another to even out his thoughts to form the next words.   
“Where?” He asked, his tone had taken a quality of calm that surprised him. He wasn’t feeling calm. Certainty not.  
The voice on the other end answered.  
“We’re coming.”   
He hung up.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few minutes were a blur. He vaguely remembered shaking Rafa awake. Seeing confusion lace his sleep-ridden expressions. He remembered clambering around for clothes, grabbing the first he thought were passible. But he didn’t remember what he had said to Rafa or what Rafa had said back. Or how he managed to walk down the stairs and put his shoes on. And wear a coat and gloves. Throughout all this though, he had clutched his phone tight. Like it was somehow his connection to Mirka. Like holding it was somehow holding her. He remembered opening the door to the driver’s seat and being stopped by Rafa.  
“I’ll drive Roger” he had said, softly but firmly enough that Roger knew better than to argue. It was probably a good idea; Roger behind the wheel in an emotional state which resembled a zombie was not the best option right now.  
Rafa was a careful driver but Roger could sense the urgency in his driving today. Every couple of seconds, a passing streetlight would wash the car in a dim yellow glow, only for a split-second, before returning to gloom. But it was enough for Roger to notice the death-grip Rafa had on the steering wheel, every tendon in his arms straining and veins popping. The roads were empty and Rafa was resisting the urge to just drive full speed and break all the traffic lights that came in the way. Who could blame him? Roger would have done the same.  
Had Mirka done the same? The thought struck Roger like a punch in the gut and suddenly he felt sick. He tried to clamp down on the flood-gates but it was too late. The human mind is cruel at the best of times and it likes to speculate and imagine and think the worst. Why was Mirka driving the car this late? Where had she been? Was she drunk? Had the brakes failed? What was she thinking? What had been her last thoughts? Wait. Last? No, no, no, no Mirka was okay. Whatever she was thinking would definitely not be her last thoughts. No way in hell. He would not let it happen. It will not happen. He would get her the best treatment available. Anything and everything to avoid that thought turning into reality. All that money and influence and popularity was in vain otherwise. God, he was going mad. He needed to know. He needed to see her. Now.  
Despite having his eyes firmly on the road, Rafa could almost read Roger from the corner of his eye. He saw his face contour and tears spill on his cheeks. He saw how Roger tried to even out his breathing and failed and how the clenching of his fists was becoming sporadic every passing second. He hoped Mirka was going to be okay. Rafa loved Roger to bits and Roger loved him back just as much, if not more. He knew that. Of course, he did. But he also knew that Mirka had always held a special place. A different place within Roger’s heart. She was the mother of his two beautiful girls. She was his first love. His companion for a very long time. The phenomenon of Roger Federer that the world saw and marvelled at lent a lot of its credit to the strong-willed, intelligent and stubborn lady called Mirka. And Rafa respected and loved her like his sister. Which was weird, come to think of it, given the fact that he was in a relationship with the ex- of a woman he regarded a sister. But that was just his way of giving his relationship with Mirka a name – a sister.  
And then they arrived. Rafa parked in the first space he found, as neatly as he could and got out. On the side of the car Roger got out too. They walked to the entrance in practiced synchrony. It was raining. He was surprised it wasn’t snowing. A few drops of rain found their way through his hair and onto his neck. The coldness made him shiver. Roger’s hair was nearly drenched too but he didn’t seem to take much notice.  
The smell of chlorine-cleaned corridors hit them like a wall the moment they stepped in through the glass doors. The hospital.  
Roger rushed to the reception before Rafa could even find his bearings. He followed.  
“We are here for Mirka. Mirka Vav… Federer. Mirka Federer.” Roger spoke with calm but his eyes, which were wet and unfocused, betrayed him. “I got a call saying she is admitted here.” He added, just to be sure.  
“Yes sir, one minute” There was no doubt that the nurse at the reception had recognised them both and she was surprised to see them together here, at this time of the night… or morning. But she recovered fast and hid it well. Not that Roger or Rafa noticed or cared.  
“Yes sir, she is here. If you follow the green path down the right here, you will find the department of Trauma and Injury. She is there”  
“Right ok thanks.”  
They followed the direction the woman had given and that had led to them yet another, ‘in-department’ reception desk, where they had to explain everything again. Anger was the mildest term to describe Roger’s emotions rights now. May be rage was more adequate.  
Finally, after some wait, a tall man with glasses that framed his long face, bounded around the corner with an air of authority and hurry. The doctor, they reckoned. He saw the two men waiting and crossed over the waiting area to them, shaking hands.  
“Dr. Morse. Mr Federer, I believe?” He spoke in English for the benefit of Rafa, though with an accent much thicker than Roger’s. Roger gave him a single nod and fixed him with a stare that signalled: forego the introductions and get–to–the–bloody–point.  
The doctor nodded, as if he understood. “Right so, Mrs Federer has suffered a car crash. She crashed into a tree. It was a lonely road which presumably led to her home. Her car was seen by a passer-by who stopped to check and found her. We don’t know how long she lay there before that because the internal bleeding is significant. She was not drunk which is good, so we think it may be the icy roads that caused a slip. She sustains multiple injuries over her body, internal bleeding and fractures but none of those are fatal. Our concern is the blow she sustains on her head. That is very serious. We have run our tests and scanned her and it’s clear she has serious brain haemorrhage.” With that the doctor finished and found both Rafa and Roger gaping at him with a horrified look.  
Roger felt empty. The feeling crept through him like frost on leaves, leaving him paralyzed and unable to think. He had expected more than a simple scratch or fracture because the person who had called had made it quite clear that it was a serious accident. And he had had the worst of thoughts while they were on their way here. But nothing can prepare you enough for bad news. Of all the things he expected to do today, being in a hospital for a seriously-injured Mirka was the last. Some still-rational part of Roger’s brain wondered how her phone had survived such a crash but he stored it away for pondering on later. Right now though, his mind spun with one question. Will she be okay? He needed an assurance, even if it was fake. Just for him to recover enough to take all this in. He just needed someone to tell him she will be okay. He wanted to ask the doctor but for that he would need words and words were abandoning him right now.  
“Will she be okay?” asked the Spaniard beside him. Rafa. Somehow he always read his mind and found the right thing to say. In that one moment, Roger’s heart ached with love for his lover. And then his attention was diverted back to the doctor.  
“Well… um, you see Mr… Nadal – that is not something we can say right now. She is critical, I will not lie. If she makes it through this night, she has her chances.”  
And at that Roger felt a tiny pang of warmth beat in his heart – she has her chances. He latched on to it. Of course she’ll make it, the night’s practically over. It’s nearly morning anyway. Just a few more hours. That’s nothing for Mirka, that stubborn woman of unparalleled will. She will make it.  
“But,” the doctor continued but Roger refused to let that little warm feeling go. “There are many complications that need to clear for her to be 100% healthy. Brain damage is the most frustrating of all injuries because of the unpredictability it causes. It can lead to so many complications, it’s almost a joke. She may not wake up exactly like how she was.”  
Both Roger’s and Rafa’s heads snapped up in unison at that.  
The doctor frowned. This was going to be harder than he thought. But he spared them the pain of framing a question and continued anyway. “What I mean is, brain damage leads to many things, like speech or movement impairments, personality changes, vision impairments or memory loss. If she does wake up…” he faltered at the glare from Rafa and added hastily, “Which I’m sure she will, she may wake up with a lot of issues. Look I’m not saying this to scare you, I just want to warn you of what to expect and more, importantly, what to not expect. That’s all. It is not a guarantee, of course, that something will definitely go wrong but it’s very likely.”  
\---  
After completing the formalities of signing forms and giving details of Mirka’s usual doctor, so she can be contacted for advice on medications, Roger found himself phoning Mirka’s holiday home. Nina, his girls’ nanny and also sometimes stand-in domestic help, picked up. He explained everything that happened as coherently as he could and told Nina that Mirka has not gained consciousness yet but he will come in the evening to see the girls and Nina. He didn’t know whether he should send them back to his main residence in Zurich or wait for a while longer. He wasn’t very keen on leaving them to Nina alone for so long. But he figured he’ll wait. He wasn’t far from Mirka’s place now, the hospital being about 30 minutes’ drive away. He’ll see what the morning brings and take it from there. Nina seemed emotional yet firm and assured Roger that she will look after the girls in the meantime. After that, he called up his main home back in Zurich to inform his team and parents of the events of the night and only after he had promised to keep them updated, was he allowed to hang up.  
Roger slumped in the chair next to Rafa, exhausted and tired. His initial shock had reclined enough to take notice of his surroundings and he looked at Rafa. He looked worse. He looked paler and weaker. His shoulders were tense and his head was held in his hands, which rested on his knees. Roger often had to remind himself of how sensitive Rafa was. It was easy to forget when he was a bundle of energy and jokes and banter most of the time. But deep down, he was very sensitive. Although such things were hard to trace to origin, Roger thought it has to do with his parents’ divorce which had torn him apart like nothing else. It had made him very susceptible to over-empathising and over-sympathising with others. Or any situation which caused trauma to anyone. It had made him very protective of those he loved because he feared losing them more now than ever. Roger knew that right now Rafa’s stress was not just because his lover was in stress but also because Mirka was fighting for her life. Rafa’s affection towards Mirka was not hidden from anyone, least of all Roger.  
“Hey” Roger whispered, nudging Rafa’s shoulder slightly with his own.  
Rafa hummed his response but didn’t look up. So Roger continued “You want anything, water, coffee, something to eat?”  
At this Rafa looked up and practically glared at Roger. “I want something to eat with Mirka nearly dy…” he flinched at his own words as tears threatened to spill. He shook his head frantically, like trying to shake the thought off.  
“Rafa” Roger saw the misery and pain his lover was in and he didn’t know what to say to make him feel better. Hell he was nowhere near sane himself. It was warm in the waiting area but he still felt cold and empty and tired. He felt so tired, even thinking hurt. Roger leaned against the back of the chair and let his head fall back to rest against the wall. Almost on its own, his hand found its way to Rafa’s thigh and settled there. Rafa immediately relaxed with it, the tension in his shoulders eased visibly and he too rested his head against the wall beside Roger. That’s it, just a simple touch like a million others, but in that moment it meant so much. Sometimes you don’t need words, sometimes you need just a touch to tell you it will be alright. Hope is the best gift, Roger thought as he stared at the white ceiling. He wished with all his heart that this hope he had managed to summon will not shatter in the next few hours; that it will turn into a reality and Mirka would wake up feeling fine.  
Just how much he loved Mirka even today hit him like a wall in that second. Yes, they didn’t live together anymore. Yes, his marriage with her was more legal than literal now. Yes, he loved Rafa with all his heart and more. But could you really just stop loving someone? It had never occurred to him before. To Roger, Mirka was just always there. A stone in his corner. A consistent, constant presence. Even when she found out about Rafa, sometime in the 2010 off-season, she had taken it all very maturely and understandingly. Hadn’t she been hurt? Roger thought it would be an understatement to say she was hurt. She most certainly felt betrayed and let down. He knew that. But even despite that, she was rational about it. She understood the issue of the image, the sponsors - the entire career of an athlete could go down the drain with image-blunders like scandals and affairs. Not like anyone needed a better example of that than what 2009 had already presented with the Tiger Woods-controversy.  
So, she had decided to stay. Because Roger’s success was not his dream alone. It was hers too. It was their dream – to win, to break records, to create them, to set standards, to be the best of all. They both loved it equally and so she treasured Roger’s accomplishments as her own. And she refused to let all her hard work, of years and years of accompanying Roger, go to waste because of this. Of course, that didn’t mean she was still going to be his wife and continue in all aspects of life like nothing was wrong. Mirka was nothing if not self-respectable. And so, since the day she had caught Roger and Rafa together, she had never allowed Roger anything more than a hug and a rare chaste kiss from her.  
They lived independent lives, in separate suits under the same huge building they called the Federer Residence. Like colleagues-turned-friends. Or more like friends-turned-spouses-turned-colleagues-turned-friends. But oh well. It worked for them and for the girls. They never let them know there was anything different. ‘Mummy and Daddy are happily married, just like everyone else’s Mummy and Daddy’ and Rafa was Daddy’s Best Friend so was around a lot – that was the tone they had set for the girls. And it has worked so far. Hopefully, it will be a few more years before they have to tell them that Mum and Dad aren’t really man and wife and Rafa is more than a Best Friend. But anyway, point being, she was ever-present and he wouldn’t be lying if he admitted he took her for granted many times in his life.  
But also, it was equally true that he never really stopped loving Mirka. When Mrika had first told him about her pregnancy towards the end of 2008, both of them were over the moon with it. It was a dream come true because he had always wanted children. He felt blessed and even more so that Mirka would be the mother of his child. The little spark he had felt on the Australian Open stage the following year, when Rafa half-hugged him, he insisted on brushing away. And he nearly did. Only, Mirka’s pregnancy had brought about something Roger was not used to – not getting her full attention 24/7. Still it wasn’t so bad. He was very excited about the baby and when he found it would be twins he was even more excited. He understood that this was a testing time for them both and that she needed all the support he could give right now. She complemented him like no other, always had. Now it was his turn to return some of that. She accompanied him everywhere even then, which he admired, that even through the pregnancy she tried her best to prioritize him. But things changed more after the girls arrived. He loved them with his life, no question about that, always did and always will. But Mirka grew distant, inaccessible almost. Nights cuddled together became less and less frequent. Every morning started with him finding the bed empty (Mirka had just resigned to spending early mornings with the babies so she wouldn’t have to get out of bed to feed them). Every chance they got to be alone, they found themselves sleeping through it with fatigue. Every attempt at a conversation was interjected by the beep of the baby monitor. Conversation, just simple conversation that a couple should have to catch-up with each other was becoming scarcer day-by-day. Of course, she would still talk to him about tennis and statistics and business because that was very important but there was no time left for anything more. He found himself seeking communication with others then at that point. Anyone – his parents, his coaches, his friends, players from tour. Anyone who would be interested to engage in a meaningful conversation which didn’t involve babies and bottles and diapers. Or tennis stats.  
The first few months, people had told him, were difficult. But these people weren’t tennis players on tour. Right or wrong, Roger found himself preferring the spare bedroom more and more over the next few months as the girls began to wake up more and more through the night. He found himself opening up to Rafa - who was still his main rival (and therefore they saw a lot of each other) - more than he liked. May be that little spark of something he couldn’t name from earlier that year had something to do with it. But also, it was because Rafa was easy to talk to; he listened and had a natural ability to make you feel that you mattered. When he talked to you, he made you feel like you were the most important person in the entire universe and he always gave you his undivided attention, even if it was only for 10 minutes. Still it was something Roger longed for and that had later paved way for what he recognised as falling in love. He wished he could help Mirka with the girls but he really couldn’t. It was easy enough not to help too – Mirka insisted he slept and recovered for training next day. She always pushed him towards tennis and never once did she pull him back to herself or the family or anything that stood in way of his career. Sometimes, he wondered, just out of curiosity, that had Mirka not done that, would things be different today? Had she anchored him more, held him back, made him work with her rather than pushing him away in a protective bubble, would the trajectory of events be different? But that was just Mirka, he guessed.  
Rafa’s nudging woke him up and Roger realized he had dozed off. It was morning. His heart thudded as he noticed the rays of the weak December sun gently drape the tinselled room. Mirka. His thought lingered on her name as last night’s events came back to him with full force. He looked at Rafa and noticed he was looking at a point beyond him so he followed his line of sight and saw the doctor from earlier standing patiently. He stood up immediately.  
“Sorry, we dozed off” His voice was croaked  
“No, no not at all. I have some news. Good one” He smiled sympathetically at the two tennis players.  
“Is she okay?”  
“She is out of danger. Her stats are coming back to normal slowly but steadily. She’s not awake yet but that’s because of all the drugs we've pumped in. She should wake up in a couple of hours, as soon as the effects wear off.”  
A huge, massive weight suddenly lifted off his shoulder. Roger had never, ever felt so relieved before. “Oh thank God, thank God” he whispered almost to himself. Mirka. She was fine. Everything was good. She was going to recover now and they would take her home. And when it came, they would all celebrate Christmas together, like a family. Like every year.  
“We can meet her, no?” Rafa, who was much more cheery now, asked hopefully. Roger nodded his agreement to the question, looking at the doctor expectantly. The doctor nodded.  
\---  
The room was vast. It was just a normal hospital room now, not the ICU. They had shifted her as soon as she was out of danger. She was still under observation, of course, but not the Intensive Care Unit type. Roger was unsure what to expect as he walked in, Rafa close behind him. He had anticipated she would be all hooked up to various wires and machines and monitors and so she was. What he hadn’t expected was how she would look. Mirka looked small and fragile lying numbly on the hospital bed, a light green blanket neatly folded up to her ribs. From behind Roger, Rafa’s view of her gradually unfolded. She wore a mask, which was probably connected to the oxygen cylinder. Her right hand rested beside her on the bed and her left rested on her stomach just above the blanket. This hand was connected to a drip. Her breathing was even and shallow and her face was serene. No trace of discomfort. She could be just sleeping. Only she wasn’t. As Roger got closer to the bed, he could see the details. Remnants of mascara still clung to her lashes although there was no other trace of make-up left. Her hair still bore the new highlights she had gotten done last week. Her nails the perfection of manicure and her lips a natural red, covered by the mask.  
It had now been 3 hours since the doctor had said they could wait in her room. She hadn't even stirred. This felt terribly like a rain delay - where an impending result is delayed. Roger hated rain delays. Rafa hated them too. The room was big, too big for a hospital room Roger thought, but he wasn't complaining. He sat on a chair by the bed to Mirka’s right and Rafa had chosen a chair by the wall across the room to her left. Roger was aware of Rafa jerking his left leg up and down because of the soft noise his shoes made against the floor. He was aware that Rafa was biting the skin around his nails because he heard the soft contact his lips made with his fingers. He was aware that this was a typical nervous Rafa.  
Roger too, Rafa could see, was nervous. The biggest giveaway was his stillness, so unlike himself. He sat like a stone on the chair. It was only because Rafa could see Roger that he knew he was in the room at all. His breathing was quiet and shallow, inaudible in the vast room. His eyes were fixed on a point which was probably Mirka’s hand. He didn't look up, didn't speak, didn't move. His expression was stone-like. Typical portrait of a nervous Roger.  
They had waited a long time. It was now nearly 11. Then Rafa noticed a change of expression on Rogers’s stone-like face.  
“What?” he asked  
Roger glanced up. “Think I saw her hand twitch. Come here.”  
Rafa was by his side at once, concentration drawn to her hand now. And there it was again, a twitch of a finger. A small one but undeniably so. The anticipation was intense. They looked at her face, expecting her eyes to open, something to stir. And her lashes fluttered slightly. At long last.  
The grin that broke across Rogers face could dull the sun. Rafa put a hand on his should and squeezed, relief washing over him.  
“Rog, I get doctor no? You stay” Roger raised his hand to place over Rafa’s on his shoulder and squeezed back, in agreement. With that Rafa paced out of room, a mild bounce to his step. Roger watched him go and smiled to himself. When he looked back he saw Mirka’s eyes on him. He smiled ever wider, if that was possible.  
“Mir. Hey.” Even as he said it, he thought of how lame it sounded compared to a whole night's worth of tension and turmoil, like she had just nipped out for shopping and come back. But he couldn’t come up with anything better.  
Mirka smiled. A weak smile but a smile indeed.  
“Rog” Mirka’s voice was laced with so much frailty it almost sounded alien to Roger. Still there was a trace of happiness in it, which probably came from finding him by her side. “Where are we Rog? What happened?”  
Roger tried not jump to conclusions at the fact that she couldn’t remember. Many people didn’t remember accidents, so what? Not a big deal. “We’re in Switzerland, near your holiday home. You had an accident, Mir.”  
Mirka looked at him, as though trying to figure something out. Her brows knotted in a frown. “Holiday home?” She sounded even frailer with confusion lacing her tone. “Why are we in Switzerland, Rog, shouldn’t we be in New York?”  
Roger just stared at her with wide eyes. He didn’t know what to make of her questions. Shock. That was it, it was the shock talking. The trauma of it all.  
She was still looking at him questioningly when the door opened and the doctor stepped in, a smile on his long face making it seem even longer. “Ah Mrs Federer, welcome back! How are we feeling?”  
Mirka was about to reply when she thought she saw a seemingly familiar figure hanging by the door. Confusion flickered over her face once again. She couldn’t make out the features. She decided to stay calm. She’ll know what’s going on soon enough. And with that she answered the doctor, “Feeling sore, I suppose. But okay overall.” Her tone confident.  
“Good, good.” The doctor had clearly yet to pick up on the sings of confusion. Oblivious to the expression on her and Roger’s face, he examined the monitors and measured the stats, as a nurse joined them with a notepad. “Everything’s looking good, Mrs Federer, you will be happy to know. Now gentlemen, if you will, we need to ask Mrs Federer here a few questions,” Then he looked at Mirka, “very easy I assure you. Just some general knowledge questions really. So if you could just step outside a moment…”  
“Yes, of course… I’m just here Mir, be back real quick” Roger looked at Mirka and tried a reassuring smile, although he wasn’t sure how much reassurance he managed to get across. He got up anyway and followed Rafa into the corridor, closing the door behind him.  
It only took a few minutes for the doors to open. The doctor didn’t seem too happy now.  
“What is it? She is okay, right? Or is there something wrong?” Roger bombarded him with questions the moment the door was closed.  
“No, no she is fine, physically-speaking. But if you can remember what we discussed last night, about complications…” the doctor trailed off, desperation clear in his tone.  
Roger was trying to avoid that thought, trying to lull himself into other explanations. But he remembered it, of course: possible complications, impairments, memory loss and everything that he dreaded. Rafa could tell Roger was mentally going through the possibilities and saw blood drain from Roger’s sun-lit features, his smooth skin now marred with fear of uncertainty. There were complications. Rafa felt his own head spin with dizziness. He found his voice though, somehow.  
“What happen to her?” Short and to the point. Rafa did not beat around the bush, even though the answer to the question scared him to the point that he almost didn’t want to know.  
“We just carried out our standard routine on her. It’s to check patients can see, hear, speak and… recall. We don’t expect people to recall the accident itself obviously, but things like year or children or spouses are expected to be remembered. She um… seems to have forgotten a few years. She thinks this is 2008.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so those were the first two chapters!  
> Please let me know what you think, that would be really appreciated because I'm feeling a bit nervous about it, now that I'm actually posting!  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I've kept the tournaments/dates/events as close to reality as possible, you've probably noticed from last chapter that I only mention Roger's daughters Myla and Charlene and not his boys Leo and Lenny. This is because they were born much later, and in this fic, that would be after Roger/Mirka had split, so unfortunately they couldn't be included to fit in the plot (it's a shame because they are so cute!).   
> Anyway, I'll let you read the in peace now...

2008\.   
Before the girls. Before Rafa. Before they split. Before a *lot* of things.   
They sat at the doctor’s office, across the table from him.  
“Look, Mr Federer and Mr Nadal, I um… don’t know much about your personal lives and therefore I don’t know what Mrs Federer knows or doesn’t know in regards to 2008. If there is anything significant that has changed since then, I would strongly encourage you to tell me, without fear of confidentiality. Whatever people discuss in this room, stays infinitely in this room.” Dr Morse spoke softly. He had already pretty much guessed what they were about to tell him really. Two men, who were rivals, did not just arrive together anywhere at 2 in the morning, without significant reason. But his experience prevented him from assuming anything. Life was complicated enough to not assume anything in it, he had learnt that. So he asked them as frankly as he could.  
Roger looked at Rafa for agreement, when he nodded, he continued. “We, as in me and Rafa are… a couple. Mirka is – well, my wife… but only officially. We live as man and wife for the public. She knows about Rafa – or knew.” He sighed, exasperated. Where do you start such a long and complicated story? “Look 2008, it was before our girls and certainly before Rafa. We were very happily together at that point.”  
Dr Morse observed him for a few seconds and nodded. “Right, okay. So the Mrs Federer of 2008 is completely oblivious to all of the current big things in her life.” He phrased it as a question so he could confirm he had followed Roger correctly. When Roger nodded, he continued. “Okay, well Mr Federer –“  
“Roger, please” Roger interrupted, the formality of the surname seemed stupid, considering how Dr Morse practically knew his entire personal life now.  
“Of course,” he smiled politely, “So Roger, I can see that the normal advice I give to patients’ relations is going to be extremely difficult for you to follow. Usually I say, if they have lost a few years of memories, don’t spring on them anything too heavy. Their memory does come back in time but how much time can vary. But with you I don’t know what to advice really because if CT scans and MRI’s are anything to go by, then honestly I would say you are looking at weeks or months rather than days.”  
“Right.” Roger tried digesting this. How can it be handled? To put up act of ‘nothing has changed’ for weeks and months is beyond taxing, physically and emotionally. Also what about the girls, he couldn’t possibly deny them meeting their mother for so long. And where would he keep them if not at home for so long. “How bad would it be really if we told her the whole truth as it stands today?”  
“I would never recommend that because I feel it would be very detrimental to her mental health, not to mention recovery time. The thing is, the more pressure a person puts on trying to recall, the more stress it causes because that area of the brain is *physically* damaged. It is not an emotion but an injury.” Dr Morse paused, looking at Roger and Rafa to check he hasn’t lost them. When they both nodded, he continued, “If you just tell her outright she will inevitably put a lot of effort in trying to remember the details, the nooks and crooks of what happened and how it happened and that, is not good at all. Apart from that she may not trust you anymore and she could take it as a betrayal, which is even worse because that can cause severe depression and anxiety issues which could stay for a long time after memory recovery. Remember, what she goes through now, she will not forget when the memory comes back. This is going to stay.”   
He observed Roger as he tried to decide. Weighing up the damage blunt truth could cause against the possible alternative. It took Roger some time but then his expression changed into determination.  
“Just tell us the normal way, we’ll see how to manage it.” Roger couldn’t do the first one. He couldn’t tell her all that, knowing what it could do to her. Just- no. With so many risks and future complications, it was not fair on Mirka. She hadn’t done anything to deserve such mental stress.  
“Well in that case, I would say, you should treat her like you did in 2008, as a partner. I mean tell her this is 2017 and I assume, she would need to be told about her girls because it’s too much time for them to not see their mother. We usually tell patients that they suffered an accident and stayed in coma for some years, which makes it easier to explain why this is a different year. But with the girls it would be obvious to her that she has forgotten a good chunk of her life. So we can go a half-truth way. Tell her that she has forgotten a few years and that in the meantime she had daughters but apart from that, portray her relationship with you as it would be 2008.”  
“But wouldn’t knowing about the girls cause her stress? Because that is a big piece of information that we would be springing on her”  
“Not necessarily. Partly, we don’t have much choice so it is a compromise. But also, I mean, children aren’t exactly a negative thing. She would take far less effort accepting her daughters than she would accepting any negative experience. Unless she didn’t want her daughters or there was some major disagreement about children prior to 2008…?”  
“Oh God no, she wanted children. Definitely wanted them. The girls were welcome by us both.”  
“Okay good, that’s good. She will find it hard to believe of course, so if you have any pictures of her with them as babies and as they were growing up, that would help convince her that they are her daughters.”  
“Yes, yes of course, that can be done.”  
“I would say the sooner you tell her the better. She has already asked many questions and I don’t want her under stress over this.” The doctor gave a sympathetic smile and suddenly realised that Roger and Rafa needed to talk. So he got up, excused himself to another patient and left the room to them with another smile.  
It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Roger that Rafa had not said a word. He had nodded and hummed his approval every now and then as the doctor spoke, but apart from that, he was silent.  
Roger turned his chair so he was facing Rafa properly, “Raf? You um… don’t think that I’ve left you out yeah? I didn’t really ask you, just agreed to the guy… I mean, are you okay with this? We *can* tell her, you know but… I mean, it won’t be fair to Mir – to have to deal with so much at once. So I thought-”  
Rafa turned to him and broke his babbling with a kiss. Soft and reassuring. A granting of permission, an agreement, an encouragement all at once.   
“Rog,” he whispered, breaking away, he looked intently into Roger’s eyes, the back of his left hand gently stroking his cheek. “Did I say I not happy, Rog? Hm? Because I am happy, very happy that Mirka okay, no? Last night, I, we – we were so scared no? For Mirka – she came back from nearly going Roger. I not unhappy at all.”  
Roger looked into Rafa’s brown eyes, the genuinity in his eyes nearly broke his heart. The selflessness which defined Rafa was ever-present, in everything the Spaniard did. He knew Rafa was being honest, that he felt genuinely happy that Mirka was okay but he couldn’t help but feel guilty somehow. Suddenly he was unsure again. They had been together for a long time, they had been through a lot together. The ups and downs of their careers, the strains the tour placed on their relationship, the adjustments and working around schedules and events to make time for each other. It had taken a lot of patience and understanding on both of their parts. It had become easier after both their teams were in on it – they would liaise and collaborate to make happy little coincidences happen as often as possible. Sometimes they happened to be in the same hotels, or same areas of town, or the same promotional events or same parties and functions. It was a treat for the media, of course, to see them together so often. The fans loved the coincidences too. Only if they knew how much work went on behind the scenes to bring the two titans of the tennis world together so often. It had taken a while for everyone, but eventually they settled into a rhythm, a routine. And now it became almost second nature. Changing it, was a scary prospect because it had been years since they had to alter the way things happened. It was unimaginable now to not meet each other at least two to three times between tournaments and even more unimaginable to not live together during them. The ups and downs of initial years had long since passed. This felt like an odd Deja-vu.   
“Raf, I know you care so much and you would never wish for anything bad to happen to Mirka, but this is big. Can you see the details? How can I, Raf? Living with Mir as a *proper* husband is… it’s a betrayal. To her, to me, to you. I can’t… I’m scared Raf. I’m scared.” Roger leaned in to the touch on his cheek. The familiarity of it, the comfort that came with it. Rafa. His Rafa. Rafa leaned in with another kiss, softer and gentler and soothing. He held Rogers head with both hands and deepened it, hoping he could convey his many emotions through it because English was never his forte. And in situations like these, he hated his inability to express finer intricacies of his own feelings. He felt wetness on his fingertips and opened his eyes. Roger was crying as he kissed back, just as earnestly. Rafa broke the kiss again, breathing harder now. Roger kept his eyes closed though, breath catching in his throat   
“Rogi, look at me. Please.” Rafa pleaded his lover, pleaded to any deities who were listening to help him out.   
Roger shook his head and spoke with his eyes still closed, touching his forehead to Rafa’s. “I won't be able to look you in the eye Rafa. Hell, I won't be able to look *her* in the eye after her memory comes back!”   
“Rog, sometimes you do what you have to do. If we had better option I would say okay we go for that. But we don't. You heard Morse guy no? If we tell it could be very very bad. Not just for now, for a long time. Anxiety, depression, mistrust. Mental scars no heal fast Roger, I know that.”   
At that Roger opened his eyes. There was a deeper meaning to what Rafa just said, he could see. Rafa was reminiscing about his own emotions during his parents’ divorce. A wound which left a deep scar. A scar that, like Rafa said, doesn't heal. It is exactly this scar that makes Rafa reluctant to inflict any pain, even if it is at his own costs. Roger admired this quality. Even now he admires it. But right now, he also wished Rafa showed some apprehension; that he said no, I can't share you with Mirka like that anymore after such a long time. That would make it so much easier to decide. It would be easier to stay firm on one decision. It would take some responsibility away from him. But Rafa did no such thing and Roger was feeling like he was being forced to choose between them.   
“Rog, do it for Myla and Charlene.” Rafa had drawn the last straw. He loved the two girls like his own. They were very dear to him. He knew this would be hard for them. And he, of all people, wasn't going to be the reason to make it any harder. “Children pick up moods very fast Roger. It will be hard enough for them when Mirka no remember them same way. It will be hard-er if she feel unwell even more. Again, scars Rogi, they stay long time.”  
Roger shuddered in Rafa arms, took a deep breath in. Myla and Charlene. Everything else took a secondary quality at their mention. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about them. He just hadn't made that particular link between Mirka’s wellbeing and their wellbeing. He will do this. Not just for Mirka, also for his daughters. He took another, calmer breath and steadied himself. He wiped his eyes and looked at Rafa. How he had managed to not only convince Roger but to also commit him to this within minutes, was astonishing.   
People from their family often looked at their relationship and assumed that Roger was the stronger one, the leader, the decision-maker. No real reason behind it apart from the fact that Roger was more outspoken and Rafa was shy and a tiny bit reserved. Rafa also usually went along with what Roger did and said but sometimes, like now, he was as solid as a mountain. Never wavering. Yet always gentle. It was a big puzzle of contradictions to Roger that was all uniquely Rafa.


	4. Chapter 4

As he entered Mirka’s room for second time that day, he carried a tray of food from the canteen. He had made sure Rafa had ordered something too, before bringing his food to Mirka’s room. She couldn't eat yet but it was necessary to give her company. There was also a pending conversation. He knew she was bubbling to bombard him with questions. And he had come prepared to oblige.  
He smiled as he walked in. “You're looking better already!”  
Her laugh was soft and her eyes crinkled as she laughed. “Someone's charming!”  
He chuckled softly and gave her a wink before settling his tray down on a wheelie table and pulling it to his chair by the wall as he sat. This kind of banter was nothing uncommon between them. They were great friends, they stayed together for almost the entire year, and they still worked passionately for his career. You can't be together so much and mope all the time for so long. You move on. That's what they did. They accepted that little facet of life and left it there. It didn't bother them anymore because they built a careful balance around it over the years. No-one who didn't know about Mirka’s memory loss would say that there was anything out-of-place with their flirting. Only, Roger knew better. Resemblance of normalcy was different from normalcy itself. And soon enough, it was proven.  
“No kiss Rog?” Mirka practically pouted as he sat down to eat. She was expecting a kiss first thing he saw her. She had been through such a big accident after all.  
Roger looked up and stared. Then nodded hastily and got up, making his way to the bed. Mirka laughed softly at his hassle. This is where the line would be drawn for today's Mirka, he thought. But this was not today's Mirka. This was Mirka from 2008. His girlfriend, with all the rights that came with it.  
He leaned in, intending on a quick peck but she deepened it. And Roger really didn't know how to react anymore. He tried to kiss back with as little encouragement as possible. It was weird but it worked. For now, anyway. She sensed his slight reluctance and broke the kiss. “Alright Mr Foody, get back to your lunch, I won't hold you back”  
As Roger turned to walk back, he felt his face grow hotter. 7 years since *that* particular thing happened.  
He settled back down in silence and started to eat his burger. Diet completely thrown out of the window, of course. He felt a bit more under control about half way through his meal but till then he dared not to look up once, lest she saw his hesitation and awkwardness.  
When he finally looked up, he found her observing him. She smiled when their eyes met. It dawned upon him that she hadn't asked any questions yet, which was uncharacteristic of Mirka totally.  
“So,” she began, “shoot”  
“I'm sorry?”  
“Shoot Rog. What is it? There's clearly something going on and you are wanting to say something. I'm not going to bombard you with questions because I have a funny feeling this is something serious. So I'll let you start. Unless you want me ask questions before you open up?”  
“Uhm no. This is fine, like this. And yes you're right, there is a thing or two that they've asked me tell you...”  
“They?” she arched an eyebrow  
“The doctors Mir”  
“Ah. Ok. Well go on then”  
“Yes God! Pushy.” he cleared his throat and had a drink of his Cappuccino. “Right. Okay. Mir the crash that you got into happened yesterday early morning. We- I have been worried sick. You suffered a brain haemorrhage in it. You know the consequences of that?”  
“Brain haemorrhage,” she rolled the words over her tongue as she thought about the answer. “No, don't know...”  
“Okay well it's basically a brain injury but nothing big. Well okay, it is kind of big. But I mean the effects go away soon enough. The effects vary from person to person. For some it’s worse like hearing loss, vision loss or personality change. Or memory loss… For you, Mir - it’s memory loss”  
Mirka blanched at that. A look of panic and terror flickered in her eyes. He could see her trying to remember what exactly it was that she *couldn't* remember. The change in the demeanour was astounding, from the flirty Mirka to a suddenly vulnerable Mirka. “What have I forgotten?”  
Roger winced, too much directness was always a problem with Mirka whilst he had always preferred to slow it down, to allude instead of spring. He was planning to stick to that today. “A few things. Listen don't panic like that. I'm here right? You trust me right?” He waited for a response and only continued when he earned a nod from her, “Okay good. Let's start with the basic. The year, Mir we're not really in 2008...” The cup of Cappuccino he had wrapped his hands around was hot but it failed to make his cold hands any warmer. “We have skipped a few years and found us in... Well. Uhm... 2017.” Slow but clearly articulated. Hard to miss what he just said.  
Her eyes widened and she looked at him in sheer disbelief.  
“20-17?” she stuttered  
He nodded, trying to look calm and reassuring.  
“2017?” She repeated, “Jesus, Rog. 9 years?!” He could see the tears swelling in the corner of her eyes now.  
Roger didn’t quite know how to handle this, he only had a very vague idea. Mirka was not the emotional type, she was always the strong one. He found himself crying in her arms after many losses in his career, but the opposite rarely ever happened. She was tough. So before he came, he had tried to remember how she used to comfort him. So he could reciprocate that. He had finished his burger by now, and he left the Cappuccino on the table, as he closed the distance between them by walking over to the bed to sit by her knees. His hand found hers and he squeezed it.  
He gave her time to adjust. He could only imagine what this must feel like.  
“What else?”  
“Mir look, firstly, this memory is not really gone. It does come back, just takes some time. So no matter how stressed and weird you feel right now, it is temporary and that is most important.” Roger paused to look at Mirka, gauging her reaction. The freckles on her face were only visible from this close and without make-up. To know each other’s flaws which were only ever visible from so close was a strange intimacy to share. Roger had almost forgotten about these soft freckles on her cheeks. Years faded memory, and lack of chances at refreshing it meant you slowly start to forget that you have even forgotten. She looked at him, moisture shining in her eyes, and nodded again.  
“So you will remember everything very very soon.” Roger repeated hesitantly, now this was leading to a peak that could really shatter this woman in front of him. The girls. Slowly, he told himself, take your time.  
“Mir, the last conversations you remember of us... What were the topics that kept coming up?”  
She thought hard about this. It seemed like yesterday and yet somehow distant. She let herself think out loud “Last conversations... About 2009 Aussie Open prep, the French Open of course, the getting back to number 1 and kids, I suppose.” She looked at him, unsure as to where this was going now.  
“Yes good correct. So now if you think that it's been 9 years, what parts from these conversations do you think may have changed or happened, as in turned into a reality?”  
“Rog since I don't remember I don't see the point in speculating. Just spill it already.”  
“No no Mir. It's important. What parts would you say are possible, logically thinking, to have happened..?”  
“All of them really. You could've won the Aussie 09 and the French...?” As she listed them again, she was watching very closely his reaction to each one; she didn't miss the wince at Aussie 09 and figured that was lost, but you couldn't miss the glint in his eyes at the mention of Roland Garros and she exclaimed, “You got the French?” He grinned broadly and she felt so, so proud of him.  
She continued the list, “or gotten back to no 1 or... Kids” the first part didn’t elicit much reaction but the second one - how, my word, could she miss that. He practically froze at that and caught her in an eye-lock. She obliged and stared right back. Confused. Shocked. Angered. Sad. Happy. God, she felt everything at once!  
“Roger,” she said very slowly, like approaching a cornered animal, “do we… have a child?”  
He didn't look away but his eyes softened even more, a slight shine to them now that wasn’t there before. It was almost a rhetorical question, both of them knew that. She had read his reaction and she had read it right. There was no mistaking about it. The tension in the room was palpable as both waited for the other to speak. It writhed and thrummed like electricity. Mirka’s head was a whirlpool of emotions. She didn't know what to feel. Her entire life felt like a lie right now, some sort of a charade. A play, which curtained her own self from it. How can you possibly forget that? How? Being a mother. The experience. The joy. The pain of childbirth. The happiness of first holding your child. And she can't remember a thing about it. She almost felt ashamed.  
Mirka didn't realize she was crying. Not until Roger leaned over to wrap her in a tight hug.  
“Shh Mir, it's okay. We're meeting them soon enough”  
“Them?” she muffled into his shirt.  
Roger tensed with the realisation of it all once again. Mirka could not remember anything. Not a thing. An entire life-changing experience, thrown away from her system.  
“We have twins Mir. Two beautiful girls. Myla and Charlene.” This was just plain and simple cruel. No one should ever be put through this, ever. He was distressed. No tension of any match even came close. Nothing came close to the wretched feeling of telling your wife the names of your children together like they were strangers to her.  
“Myla and Charlene” Mirka repeated, acquainting herself with the names of daughters. They were nice names, she thought. She liked them. She wondered whose choice they were. Hers or Roger’s? But she couldn’t bloody remember. Her grip on his back tightened and she sobbed with frustration. Roger leaned in more and Mirka snuggled into his arms. It could have been hours, but it was probably only minutes when he realised her breathing had evened out and pulled back slightly to look at her. She had fallen asleep. The nurse had said this could happen. Mirka was tired physically and needed recovery and the various pain-killers would make her drowsy and sleepy. He lay her back and pulled the blanket up. He leaned down to kiss her forehead and stood there, looking at her. She was still so beautiful, Mirka. Just like when he had first seen her. Tears traced lines on her cheeks which somehow only made her more beautiful. Roger involuntarily reached down to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand and caught himself in the affectionate act. He stopped and stepped back. Padding softly to the door, he opened it gently and closed it behind him with a soft click.  
He immediately leaned against the corridor wall for support. He felt weak. He sighed and closed his eyes. The worst was over, he told himself. For now.  
\---  
Rafa was sitting at the canteen. He had long finished eating but was too tired to get up and leave. So he decided to order another cup of Masala Chai. He had chosen a table in the far corner, near the staff only door, secluded from the rest of the public. The last thing he could deal with right now was publicity and fans. And even though he was pretty much out of public eye, he still kept his head low, his hoodie up and his back facing the canteen. He felt a hand on his back and tensed. If he was found now the entire hospital will know and then the entire world will know that Rafael Nadal was in Switzerland. God, he could do without this right now. He turned his head slowly, to see who it was. When he saw Roger standing there, he sighed his relief. Then he tensed up again -  
“Why you walking around so freely. Someone will notice you.”  
Roger waved a dismissive hand as he sat down on a chair next to Rafa “People near Zurich are used to seeing me around. They generally leave me alone”  
Rafa arched an eyebrow suspiciously. Even people Manacor were used to seeing him around but they did not leave him alone because of that. “They leave you alone. Really?”  
Roger produced an afro wig from his coat pocket and some huge shades. Despite the situation, they both grinned.  
“You walk around wearing that? Clever boy Rogi! How you got it?”  
Roger shrugged, “have a stash in the car. Just picked it up before leaving. There was no one around when we came so didn't need it before.”  
Rafa nodded. He could do with that too, really. He had spent a long time today pulling up his hoodie and ducking his head. His shoulders were sore with walking around hunched. But two people walking with afros and similar shades may not be the most inconspicuous disguise, so he dismissed the idea.  
Rafa wrinkled his nose as he drank the last of Masala Chai and caught Roger looking at him as he did. First the stare was about how cute Rafa looked but it soon turned serious and Rafa came back to himself.  
“How it go Rogi?”  
“Told her that she has lost her memory but it will come back soon and that... We have two, twin girls.” Roger’s voice hitched at the memory, the strange twist in the gut he felt as he told Mirka what their girls were called. Rafa took Roger’s hand in his own under the table and urged him to continue.  
“She has forgotten everything.” He emphasised the ‘everything’ and caught Rafa’s eye as he did to silently indicate that everything includes their relationship too. They already expected this of course, when the year 2008 had come up, but he thought it was important to reiterate. Roger searched for a reaction but Rafa gave him a single nod, not betraying any emotions.  
“So yeah, she thinks we are happily ma- no wait, she doesn't know we got married either. I forgot earlier. Just told her about the girls, didn't even mention the wedding... I mean it's not as huge as the girls because we were together for so long but you know...” Roger trailed off, and noticed his grip on Rafa’s hand had tightened. He loosened it slightly, still watching their hands entwined together.  
“Rogi what she say?”  
“She cried at the end. I could feel she was feeling disjointed and lost. She didn't say much to be honest but the urgency with which she hugged me, like she didn't want to let go, like she would lose herself if she did, she clutched on like-” Roger realised he was now describing too much of the hug. So he stopped himself. Rafa wasn't stupid, he knew what they were in for when 2008 was mentioned. But still, that didn't mean he wanted to know such details.  
“Rogi, it's okay. It will be fine no? You call up team and parents again to update them?”  
Roger shook his head. There were a lot of things that needed to be explained to a lot of people before Mirka came back home. Their suits, now separate, needed to be merged; Mirka’s things brought over to his suit and arranged so it looked like it was their suit. Roger realised Mirka probably didn't remember the Federer Residence either. He couldn't decide if that was good or bad. It would mean she would not question the arrangement of certain things because she wouldn't have a comparison point so there would be less lies involved. But it was also bad because may be Mirka won't see it as a home straight away, she may not find herself totally relaxed in a place she couldn't emotionally identify as home. They could do their best though and he was certainly going to try his best to make her feel at home.  
But right now, he needed to talk to Rafa more. He needed to know how he felt, where he was emotionally. Because Rafa hadn't given much away at all, probably not wanting to burden Roger with it. But Roger needed to know.  
“How are you feeling about all this Raf?”  
“Rogi, I already say no? To go ahead. No have second thoughts now”  
“No no Raf, I'm not having second thoughts. I just need to know how you are feeling. Rafa just because I'm going through a lot myself, doesn't mean you shut me out to what you feel. It won't burden me or anything, you think I can't handle it if you spoke freely to me?”  
“I already speak freely to you Rogi. What you want me to say?”  
Roger didn't know himself what he was expecting. But somehow he had a feeling Rafa was holding back. He hoped Rafa knew that their off-season together time was not going to happen anymore, what with Mirka looking at him as a boyfriend. They weren't going to be able to spend much time together at all till she recovered because well, it was hard to keep secrets from Mirka anyway and now they could not afford being caught. So phone calls and texts would be the most they could do for God knows long. Roger merely shrugged and waited for Rafa to continue.  
“Rogi I no feel bad about anything apart from Mirka being ill. So there.”  
Roger decided it best not to stretch right now. It was too early anyway, everything was raw still. Even to know how you're feeling yourself, you need time to digest the events and one night is hardly much time at all.  
“Okay” Roger whispered soothingly, giving Rafa a tender smile. He got up from the table and put his afro and shades on. Rafa shook his head in amusement and the corners of his mouth lifted in a small but affectionate smile as he watched his lover go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so here's the fifth one...
> 
> Technically I should've said this in notes for Chapter 4 but oh well:   
> I've included a lot of 'medical' details about how memory loss works and what advice is given and all that. Rest assured that this is all credit to Google, I have no idea about anything that actually happens in the brain and stuff. I've most likely twisted and turned what actually happens to fit my plot, so don't take me too seriously. just go with the flow ;)
> 
> Just a quick note about the time-frame too - I've taken the semi-finals of ATP World tour finals (on Sat 18th Nov 17) to be the start of off season for Roger because he lost the semi-finals (much to my sadness!). And Rafa never took part, so all this is probably happening in the week commencing 20th Nov. It's not very relevant but if you might like a generic idea... 
> 
> Also thank you all so much for all your comments, they're really encouraging and I'd love to hear more! x

Roger waited at Dr Morse’s office as he nipped out to get the reports.

“Ah, Roger. Good afternoon. I believe the talk with Mrs Federer went as planned?” It wasn't really a question because the doctor knew exactly what had happened the moment Roger had stepped out of the room. He had been just around the corner of the corridor the whole time. And as soon as Roger had composed himself, he had given him a detailed account of what happened and how she reacted. The doctor had simply listened and nodded, refraining from giving any reaction till the reports from a million tests came back.  
So Roger just nodded his agreement.

“Reports are back. She has a fracture on her right leg, which we knew already and it has been plastered, that will take about 3 weeks to heal. There was some internal bleeding in her lung tissue and abdomen, probably because of the steering wheel banging into her after impact. That is not very serious but she will be prescribed medication for it to help the healing.” From the thick file he had brought in and settled on the table, he took out a prescription littered with wriggling lines, and laid it on the table.   
Roger glanced at it from across the table, and frowned, can the pharmacists read that? He wasn't so sure but he thought better than to voice his concerns over its legibility. They probably had a way to work it out, he figured.

“Here is the special diet plan,” Dr Morse continued, as he took out a pile of stapled paper. This one was typed up, thank god. “Her abdomen will need more recovery time so there are certain foods she cannot eat. You'll need to make sure her diet is according to the plan here”

“Right, absolutely”

“We'll keep her under observation for two more nights, make sure she doesn't show any signs of regress. Don't think she will but with head trauma it's better safe than sorry.” He smiled confidently as he looked up from the file.

“Yes sure of course. But she's free to go by Thursday then?”

“Yes, yes. Where will she going by the way, I don't think your permanent residence is here?”

“No we'll all head to Zurich from here. Will you be liaising with our doctor to update her on all the things you told me?”

“Oh yes absolutely. In fact I've already faxed all this and reports to her on the number you provided earlier so she'll be well aware of the scenario when you reach.” He paused, considering his next words, “Roger about the talk with Mrs Federer earlier, from what you said, it sounds it went well. Believe me, it could have gone much worse, and that is a very good sign. She’ll need a lot of support and understanding from you over the next few weeks. It’s a clichéd phrase but I mean it – she might have mood swings, highs and lows, maybe snippets of memory from the years she has lost as she starts to recover, so try not to lie to her, just tell her to be patient. Your girls, she wants to meet them right?”

“Yes, she does.”

“That’s good but prepare her with pictures and anecdotes and memories first. Don’t bring them in front of her till she knows what she is in for. That’s not just for her benefit but also for your daughters’. You’ll need to talk to them and make them understand as best you can.”

“About that, I was going to ask actually, what do I say to Myla and Charlene? I mean how do I explain this… condition?”

“Ah well, I’m not a psychologist Roger, far less a children’s one. But try not to lie about it, just explain in simpler terms. They’re around 7… 8?”

“Yes, 8” Roger was surprised the doctor knew his daughters’ age. But then again he was a public figure and they have been in the spotlight all their lives too. They were on his Wikipedia page, for God’s sake; hardly a trouble to find for anyone interested enough.

“Yes. So they shall understand the basics concepts of getting hurt and getting better and caring. You know them best, so I can’t really advice how but with the right words, it shouldn’t be very hard.”

“Y-yes okay, I’ll try my best. And… thank you so much.”

\---

The rest of the day had pretty much went in figuring out the logistics. They figured they first needed a shower and a change of clothes so they drove back home later that afternoon. After they were both showered and dressed, they silently re-packed whatever they had unpacked last evening after arriving. They were here two more nights but they figured to keep the bare minimum outside and just pack everything else in. Besides, someone needed to stay with Mirka overnight, the doctor had strongly advised. So Roger had to pack a few things in a spare bag for that because, of course, it had to be only Roger who could stay. Rafa was out of question for that.

They also decided to drive over to Mirka’s holiday home and pick up the girls in the evening. With the new turn of events (Mirka memory loss), they couldn’t keep them with Nina alone for longer; they were already asking questions and were not happy that Mirka wasn’t around. Nina hadn’t told them yet, as had Roger instructed, but it was getting harder to lie. This was sensitive and he wanted to be in full control of what was being said to them about it. Explaining this to them, at their age, was going take time and both Roger and Rafa were prepared for that. So they told Nina to pack their stuff, and tell them they are visiting Daddy should they ask questions.

But there was still some time for all that. It was only 4 in the afternoon. They had a couple of hours to themselves. Rafa had slumped in the bed and put on some random show on the TV. He had planned a nap but wasn’t sleepy, oddly enough.

Roger wandered in from the living room, “Seen my afro anywhere?”

Rafa smirked at the memory, and looked at Roger. “In the car. Your shades too” 

Roger nodded, remembering leaving them there. He leaned against the door frame, watching Rafa watch TV and wondered when they would see each other again after these two days were over. Rafa frowned and got up. He caught Roger’s eye and held the gaze, moving towards him. 

Roger felt his heart speed up. Just watching Rafa with that look in his eyes, did wonders to set his heart flying. When he was close enough, Rafa raised both his hands and rested them on either side of the doorframe, trapping Roger in between. 

“What you looking at?” a tease in his voice

“A particularly good-looking Spaniard, I suppose.”

“You flirting with me?”

“May be. Is it working?”

“Maybe” And with that he moved in to kiss Roger’s jawline. Nothing like the soothing kisses from earlier today. It was hard to believe they were still in the same day, so much had happened. Rafa kissed with a hint of teeth, nibbled on the jawline moving to the ear. When he got to the ear, he used his tongue to lick behind it, a sensitive spot for Roger, he knew. Instant reward when Roger moaned a low moan. Roger closed his eyes, hearing Rafa’s breath in the ear, his smell surrounding him as his own hands made their way to the expanse of skin underneath his lover’s t-shirt. He traced the spine and every bone that ran down Rafa’s back. He felt the muscles as they rippled underneath the skin. He let his nails scratch and scrape as they moved over Rafa’s back, wanting to mark him, wanting to claim him, wanting to give him something to remember beyond this moment, beyond this room. But mostly, wanting to be marked himself in return - he wanted a reminder that Rafa was here, wanted the feeling of being taken and he wanted a stabbing ache when he would, inevitably, have to be closer to Mi- he scratched harder at that thought and almost drew blood. He knew that would elicit a reaction. And it did. Rafa groaned and instantly bit Roger’s earlobe as a response, then he grizzled down to the back of his neck, just above the shoulder blades and bit down again, harder. Bruising him, claiming him as his own and no one else’s. Roger hissed his pain but only wanted more. They shared the air they breathed and the heat between them was building to unbearable. They clung to each other, grinding and pushing, still standing at the door, a desperate quality to every moan and breath. The time they had left suddenly became so much more precious because they didn’t know when the next would come. How long the wait would be. How much it would tear them. Uncertainty surrounded them and it reflected on the way with which they felt the other’s body, not holding back anymore. An urge to hold the other here, in the right now, overwhelming. They stumbled to the bed, still desperate and hungry and wanting. 

And when they made love, it was with passion and desire and pure, untamed possessiveness. 

\---

Rafa woke up with a start but lay where he was, giving his mind the time to catch up with the world around him. They were on the bed, half dressed. They hadn’t even undressed fully earlier, he realised. His body ached and burned and felt alive – a mild buzz everywhere. Roger was lying beside him, both of them on their backs, lying on top of the sheets rather than under them. The room wasn’t cold but it wasn’t very warm either. Rafa shivered but not because of the temperature. He recalled the events from last night following into the morning and all day today. They had to pick up Myla and Charlene at 7. That thought bolted him to sit right up. What time was it? The Cuckoo told him it was 5.40, part of him wondering why it hadn’t cuckooed at the hour. Or maybe they’d slept through it. Now they had to leave in 20 minutes basically, because from their house, although the hospital was only half an hour’s drive, Mirka’s place was an hour’s. Rafa frowned, he was hoping to make some dinner before they left so the girls wouldn’t be kept waiting when they came back. Myla and Charlene were two hyperactive girls during the first half of the day and so they had a healthy appetite towards the latter half of it, which Rafa has always been happy to cater for whenever they were around. But now he had no time. They had just fallen asleep like spent teenagers. But then again, they did have a very busy night, he supposed, and not much sleep at all. The exhaustion was bound to get to them eventually. He was kind of surprised they had functioned so well all day actually. 

Rafa saw Roger sleeping contently and felt awful at having to wake him up. He could see he was tired, and not just physically. He in general hated waking Roger up, which had led to Roger missing quite a few morning schedules in the past because Rafa would turn the alarm off the moment it rung. Rafa hadn’t known of Roger’s morning schedules at the time, of course. He just couldn’t find it in himself to disturb the beauty that Roger was, in the smooth golden-tanned skin, in the rise and fall of his chest, in the long lashes caressing his face. So after those first few experiences of angry clients and hosts phoning his manager, Roger had learnt to tell Rafa the night before if he had any early morning commitments. Then Rafa wouldn’t even let him snooze for 10 more minutes. It was all very fascinating. But right now, Rafa had the mean task of waking up Roger. 

He decided the best way was not to shake him awake. So Rafa bent over the bed and gave Roger a long, deep kiss. Soon enough, he kissed back. Rafa figured this was the gentlest way he could find of carrying out an almost cruel task. He broke the kiss, and whispered into Roger’s ear, “We have to leave in 20 minutes, want to get ready now?”


	6. Chapter 6

An hour later, they were at Mirka’s holiday home. It was a beautiful place she had insisted on buying only for herself and the girls so they could stay here while Roger was with Rafa, only an hour’s drive away from their holiday home. It had a beautiful garden which was carpeted with snow and they had the Christmas lighting up already - the little led lights lighting up windows and making it a warm, welcoming home. They rang the old-fashioned bell and Nina answered almost immediately. 

She shuffled over to let them in and closed the door on the cold outside. The house had promised warmth with the lights outside and it did not disappoint – the warmth engulfed them the moment they were inside. They were also engulfed by two pairs of skinny arms as soon as the coats were off.

“Daddy!” Myla and Charlene almost shrieked in union. Roger sat on his haunches and hugged them back and hugged them tight. He felt so happy to see them again, although he had only met them two days ago before he had left for his holiday with Rafa. As he hugged back his daughters, even if only for a moment or two, he forgot about the night he had spent and the days that were yet to come.

“Hi babies” he whispered and earned a disapproving sigh from Charlene

“Daddy, we are not babies! Why don’t you remember?”

They didn’t wait for an answer as they turned their attention to Rafa. They hugged him the same way and he was overjoyed!

“Hey ladies!” He said, hugging back. 

“See Daddy, why can’t you be like Rafa. He never calls us babies.” Myla exclaimed. Rafa gave Roger a playful wink at that and Roger rolled his eyes, frowning. The two tornadoes were all ready to go, with their packed suitcases and everything. Nina was ready too. Roger counted the suitcases just to be sure. 

“Charlene’s, Myla’s, Nina’s and that one?”

“Mirka’s,” Nina replied, “You hadn’t asked but I thought it wouldn’t hurt packing it anyway.”

Of course. That had slipped entirely, Mirka’s stuff. In fact, she would probably want some in the hospital too. “Oh, thank you so much Nina! That was very thoughtful of you, and silly of me!” He gave her an embarrassed smile and picked up two of the suitcases. Rafa joined in picking up the other two.

Nina checked all the plugs, sockets and switches were off before turning the Christmas lights off too and checking the windows again. She locked the door and activated the alarm system before following everyone else to the car on driveway.

“Everything good?” Roger asked her, as she settled beside the girls at the back. 

“Yes, good to go.”

“Daddy why are we leaving here so soon? Mummy said we’ll be staying two weeks like every year.” Myla chirped

Here came the questions. 

“And where is Mummy? Nina said she had an important meeting about tennis. But isn’t this holiday time now?” Charlene supported her sister well in the questioning.

“Sweetie, we decided to spend time differently just this once. So you’ll be going to our other home with Rafa now and you’ll just drop me off somewhere on the way. I’ll be back tomorrow morning, you’ll be fine with Rafa and Nina, yeah?” He skipped the question about Mirka entirely, choosing to answer the other ones. He didn’t want to lie them about Mirka any more than necessary. It would be wrong to make up stories today and then paint a completely opposite picture tomorrow. It will have to be tomorrow, he wagered, in the comfort of a living room. Not like this, in a car, where he couldn’t even see them properly.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Rafa’s more fun anyway!” Charlene taunted and they both giggled at another dig at their father. The girls were taking after their mother spectacularly, Roger thought.

“But where are you going?” Myla prodded.

“It’s just some important work.”

The questions didn’t stop of course. And Rafa could see Roger was playing hide and seek, side-stepping the Mirka ones, choosing the ones he liked better, changing topics, distracting the girls with the scenery outside every time he felt slightly cornered, talking to Nina, talking to Rafa and sometimes even playing dumb. Everything he could do, he did. Years of interview practice probably coming handy now more than ever. Had the undercurrent not been so grave, Rafa would’ve surely taken a video to show the girls later, after they grew up, of just how clever their father was.

They kept the banter going till they got to the hospital. Roger stopped the car just before the main building emerged into view and got out. He opened the back door and gave both his girls a kiss and a hug.

“Okay, *ladies*, I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t be too cheeky!” They both giggled at that.

In the meanwhile, Rafa got out too, and discreetly took Mirka’s suitcase from the boot. They could really do with the girls not noticing the suitcase.  
Roger closed the door and straightened up. Rafa closed the boot and held Mirka’s suitcase on the ground, along with Roger’s bag-pack. Roger clasped his hand and gave him a half hug, like at the net after matches. They exchanged tight smiles before Rafa got to the driver’s seat and slid in, closing the door and speeding off. Roger stood there a moment, watching the car fade into the night before making his way to the hospital. 

\---

It was quite in the hospital as he made his way to the department of Trauma and Injury. The lights had been dimmed too. The visitor hours were long over so only those who stayed overnight were now allowed in the ward. Roger beeped the buzzer at the door and waited. 

“Hi, come in.” The nursed spoke from the other end and beeped the door open. He wondered why she hadn’t asked who it was and then realised there was a camera overhead and it’s not like you forget Roger Federer’s wife is on your ward. And it’s not like you didn’t recognise the man himself when you saw him, even if only from an overhead camera. Benefits of popularity, he guessed. Although not a very huge benefit.

He got to Mirka’s room, took a deep breath in, and opened it. Mirka was awake now, reading a book from the hospital library. Yes the hospital had a library because it was almost a five-star hospital, at the base of the Alpine ranges where the only prospective patients were all millionaires. They could afford a little luxury.  
The lights were even dimmer here, only the overhead light which allowed Mirka to read was on. It’s warm yellow glow, casting a golden tint on her hair. Near the wall by the window stood another bed, which wasn’t there earlier, for him.

She looked up from the book when she heard the door open. “Rog, do I have glasses now, by any chance?” 

He was surprised by the random question as he closed the door behind him and made his way to the bed. “Yes, you do, you have reading ones. Actually I might have them here…” He trailed off, placing the suitcase on his bed and opening it. There were so many things here, how can you find something as small as glasses. He searched through the piles of clothes, and bags of make-up and shoes and whatnot. 

“I don’t know, but I guess I would probably put the smaller things in the compartments on the side” she offered helpfully.

“Ah yes, but this wasn’t packed by you…” He muttered to himself, “or, actually it might be relatively unpacked because it was only two days ago. One minute.” He fiddled with the smaller pockets. 

“Oh yes, here there are. Well done you!” he grinned triumphantly as he handed them to her.

“Thanks” she took them and put them on, “Ah now that’s much better. Was having headache reading without them.”

“Good, good. You want anything else? From here I mean? Own clothes and stuff?” 

“That would be nice actually. Don’t like the hospital clothes, cling to you like there’s no tomorrow.” She chuckled at her own joke and he joined in, happy to see her happy. 

“Sure, what do you want?”

“Pass me the kittens one. The pyjama I mean.”

“Umm…” He looked down at the bag overflowing with clothes. “The kittens one?”

“Oh, I might not have that one now. I don’t know, just any pyjama you find, can’t really see from here”

“Oh right, ok.” Roger fiddled some more, and found a set of pyjamas with little puppies and kiss lips over them. He shook his head, Mirka and her clothes. “Here you go.” He tossed them to the bed in an expert throw and automatically turned to face the wall, “not looking, don’t worry.”

“Why would I worry if you looked?” Mirka chuckled, curious and playful.

Roger frowned. Of course. He was her boyfriend. Why would she worry about *that*?

He managed a shaky laugh, “Yeah, funny me.” But stayed turned anyway till she finished.

He unpacked his own bag-pack and nipped to the in-room loo to change into some old tee and baggy joggers. Perfect.  
He came out and hopped onto his own bed and took his kindle out to give Mirka some company reading. 

“What’s that?” She nodded to the Kindle in his hand and Roger looked down at the small slab. It was just sinking in that she had forgotten 9 years. What he hadn’t realised though is how much the world had moved on in those 9 years. It was like starting to watch a movie that was already half-way through – you’re left guessing about what the plot is. 

“It’s called a Kindle. It like a tab where you can read books. Loads of them, without the hassle of paper.” 

“A tab?”

“A phone? A touch screen phone but bigger and you can’t use it to call.”

At her confused expression, he decided to show her some pictures and videos. She needed to get acquainted with the basics of this world. He couldn’t recreate nine entire years but  
he could definitely provide some insight into where the world was today. So he took out his MacBook and pulled a chair by her side.

“Here look,” and they spent a good hour looking at various new technologies which came up after the November of 2008. Even words like ‘googling’ amazed her. And anything from selfie sticks to drones were an entirely new world. She was impressed. But she wanted something more, something personal. To do with her, rather the outside world.  
“What about um… Charlene and Myla? You have any photos of them on here?” 

Roger looked at her and nodded. He knew this was coming and he was prepared. He opened the pictures album and decided to start with their earliest pictures first. The first one was of the two of them, holding one twin each and smiling at the camera happily and proudly. Mirka gasped as she saw this. Herself, with Roger and the two girls who she now knew to be her daughters but did not really recognise. The Mirka of 2009 smiled back at her through the screen, the warm smile and glinting eyes, a gentle arm wrapped around their daughter. Roger - a much younger man than the one next to her - with fuller cheeks and thicker hair, still the same bright smile but with a boyish quality to it. The Roger on the screen was just growing out of his younger years, just entering fatherhood, just entering a new phrase in life. The Roger next to her was a man, who had seen more life, more highs and lows and was well-acquainted with family life. His boyish aura now replaced with a more mature one. Suddenly she realised just how long nine years were.  
They reeled through the years of pictures. Myla and Charlene’s first Christmas. First tooth. First on-their-own meal. Roger tried giving a commentary wherever he could. Like the first all-on-their-own meal, without any help from mummy and daddy start to finish. It had been a nightmare. An absolutely regretful experience where Myla and Charlene had decided the food was better off as hair accessories and jewellery than a meal. And so they had proceeded to adorn each other with mashed potato as head bands and mashed carrot as necklaces. It had taken hours to get the mashed potato out of the baby hair. The lesson was well-learnt – don’t repeat until much later. Both Mirka and Roger giggled as he narrated the now-funny episode. 

The album continued. Their first steps. Their first words. Their first proper holiday. Their first this and first that. And so much more. They whizzed through years of memories of laughter and joy and happiness. And now, the last album, named 2017, came to an end. The last picture being only a few days old. Just before their last day in London. At the ATP Finals. 

Roger realised his fingers had entangled with Mirka and her hand tightened around his as the screen turned blank, signalling the end. They stared on. 

“Jesus Rog.” 

Most of those photos, she had taken herself. Roger felt odd, it was a feeling he couldn’t compare because it was like no other he experienced before: to sit here, showing Mirka things she had been through but couldn’t remember. 

“I know Mir, I know” he spoke softly, aware of the delicateness of the situation

“Rog, I feel so… empty. I feel barren.” Her voice cracked on the last word. 

“Mir, I know this is… this is ridiculous. I know that. But Mir, just know that you don’t need memories to love your children. It will come to you, Mir. I just know it will. And at the end of the day, that’s what matters, right?” 

No. She shook her head

“Mir you got the memories. You just saw them now. You know them now. Yes it’s not your own personal recollection but it’s something at least…” Roger trailed off, he wasn’t convincing himself much with those words, and he doubted he was convincing her any better.

“Yeah but Rog, I – God. That was the entire *lifetime* of my children and I… don’t know it. It’s not there, don’t you see? I don’t even know I have forgotten anything at all in this bloody head of mine! Could’ve just died in that fucking crash!” Her pitch climbed higher and higher as she spoke.

“Mirka!” Roger’s eyes flashed with hurt. 

“It’s true… It would be better than this”

“How can you even say that? You’d rather the girls without their mother than you without their memories?” Anger and hurt glowed in his eyes, he knew he was being too sensitive but he couldn’t control himself.

“No! No, god, no. I wasn’t meaning that. I wasn’t meaning anything. I’m sorry”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Roger immediately calmed with her unexpected apology, the doctor’s warning about her mood swings and sensitivity coming back to him. “I- I overreacted. Sorry. It’s been a stressful past 24 hours and I wasn’t thinking straight. God, I’m so sorry Mi-“

She cut him off with a kiss, his eyes widening with the shock. He clutched the laptop harder, knuckles turning white, as she deepened it. He had to kiss back because how do you not? With her expecting it and any wrong move would only raise suspicions. But also because it came naturally. So he kissed back and when her tongue demanded access he let her. He felt his heart thud against his ribs and heat grow in his cheeks. He was getting a flush. God he had to stop. This would not end well otherwise. And just as he thought of pulling away, Mirka’s hand found its way to the nape of his neck, lingering at the soft curls there, and pulling him in more. He melted slightly into her touch, the femininity of her soft hands, and the soft brush of her hair against his cheeks, the lips that were unmistakeably Mirka’s. Sense-memory was flooding back to him at an alarming rate. He could remember how it felt. Before the break-up. Before that night with Rafa. Before she caught them. He was remembering. The irony of the situation struck him - her loss of memory was leading to his recovery of it. 

Roger purred into the kiss and his own noise startled him, fishing him out of a trance. And he pulled back, softly, nothing drastic. Their lips parted with a soft pop. He kept his eyes closed, composing himself and already thinking of excuses.

“Mir, you aren’t allowed physical exertion of any kind.” He opened his eyes, with what he hoped was a firm look.

She could see a fine layer of shine in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “You okay, Rog?”

“Uh-huh. Good yeah.” He smiled and nodded. He gave her a peck on the cheek before getting up. “Just tired, Mir, is all. I’m good, really.”  
His breathing was still erratic as he closed his laptop, switched the light off and made his way to his bed. He blinked away the tears that had pooled around the corners of his eyes and stared into darkness. 

\---

It had happened. That kiss with Mirka. The first official... he wasn’t sure what, but the first official something had happened. He was running away from it. As soon as Mirka was healthy enough, she was going to initiate a lot more than this, he knew that. And really, how long could he resist? It was going to happen. It was just beginning to turn into a reality and he didn’t know what to make of it.

The low rumble of the machinery in the room didn't prevent Roger from falling into an exhaustion-induced sleep, but neither did it allow him a peaceful slumber. He was going in and out of wakefulness, littered with dreams of future possibilities and past events. Sequences of events all muddled up would appear in a dream every so often, mixing the boundaries of time and space. Moments with Rafa got mixed with moments with Mirka and vice versa. It was terrifying and Roger found himself startling awake on the tail of nightmares every so often. 

Mirka was sound asleep of course, partly because of the injuries and partly as the side effect of the medications the nurse had put through the drip earlier. Roger thought of calling or texting Rafa, he knew he would be awake. It was 1 in the morning but somehow he had a feeling Rafa wasn't asleep. But what if he was? So Roger abandoned the idea. That wasn't really why he abandoned it, of course. He was scared of feeling exposed, like Rafa would know the moment he heard his voice. Like he would be laid bare. He felt guilty that his heart had fluttered through that kiss. It was a physical reaction he knew. But that didn't mean he liked it. And it certainly didn't take away the sting of guilt. A feeling that he had somehow betrayed Rafa. Like he was forcing himself into something he didn't want. And what about when Mirka remembers? What will she think then? How would she react to these new memories he was creating now?

He thought of how much his life had changed in the space of 24 hours. Last night this time, he was wrapped in his lover's arms, who slept blissfully by his side. His breathing a soothing remedy to the wear and tear of the outside world. Today, he was on his own, with the only company being the humming of the monitors. His bed was by the window so he reached up and parted the blinds to look out, propping himself on his elbows. It was a starry night. He could almost imagine Rafa in this blue light - his features softer than ever, his eyes a glinting silver and his lips, pink and inviting. 

Lips. That brought him back to Mirka. The kiss. The heat. 

Arrrghhh. He needed out of here. 

But where would he go? Walk around the hills and mountains till he froze to death. He could imagine the headlines that would create: Sporting legend dies a cold death in his home-country; Roger Federer’s hypothermic demise leaves tennis world in shock; the fate of tennis GOAT sealed amongst livestock in the Swiss Alps.  
The last one was a bit too harsh, he reckoned. He didn't think people would appreciate a pun at such a sad time. 

God what was he thinking? Was he going mad? He got up and dug his phone out. No texts, no calls. He debated whether to initiate a conversation, if only for his own sanity right now. But what would talking to Rafa achieve? He almost put the phone down. 

Then he texted Rafa. 

‘Hi’ He didn't know what else to say. He didn't expect a reply anyway. 

Then two beats later, ‘No sleep Rogi?’

Roger was so relieved Rafa was awake. 

‘New place new bed, no luck sleeping. You?’

‘Old place old bed, no luck sleeping ;)’

‘Haha, how funny. You had dinner?’

‘Oh yes! Pasta with my special sauce. Mylie and Charlie loved it no?’

‘You're an amazing cook Raf, of course they loved it.’

‘Better than you no?’ 

‘Hey, didn't imagine the girls’ attitude will rub off on you so soon!!’

‘Hahaha, well they are charming ladies so no hardship.’

‘And what does that say about you? Easily influenced?’

‘Maybe. No mind :)’

‘Yeah. Weirdo!’ 

‘I no weirdo, you weirdo!’ 

‘No you!’ 

‘You!’ 

‘Nope. You!’ 

‘You. You. You!’ 

‘We're fighting like kids Rafa!’

‘I know. Bad example to set no?’ 

‘Totally. Ok you get some sleep now yes?’ 

‘Yes you too, try to sleep.’ 

‘Will do. Night Raf xxx’ 

‘Night Rogi xxx :)’ 

He felt so much lighter now, the light banter lightening his mood. Ghost of a smile appeared on his face, he stretched contently and snuggled further into the sheets, drifting into sleep. 

Morning came with new beeps and noises, both unfamiliar and annoying. Roger groaned at the morning hospital hustle. He was facing the window so the light coming in through the blinds did nothing to ease the rude awakening. He blinked his eyes open and then shut them right back against the onslaught of blinding light. He turned to face the room and saw the other bed empty. He sat upright, where's Mirka? Just as he was about to lunge out of the room to get assistance, a nurse came in through the door pushing a wheelchair with Mirka in it. Roger let out the breath he realised was holding. At his questioning stare, the nurse answered, “We were testing some crutches for Mirka's leg, just seeing which ones she preferred.” 

“Ah right. So, you proper tried any yet?” He asked Mirka, sitting back on his bed.

“No, they said I can try walking with them tomorrow. Today, just this old guy” she complained, patting the wheelchair. 

“Don't worry. You look comfy there. I would love to ride that every day!” He hadn't intended any double meaning on the ‘ride’ but the awkward smirk from the nurse made him blush. 

So he kept his eyes averted as Mirka was helped onto the bed and kept his mouth shut till the nurse was gone. 

He stared at the back of the closing door, and mentally pulled faces at the nurse. He decided he didn't like her. When he looked back Mirka was giving him an arched eyebrow. 

“So now we like riding as well as getting a ride, do we?” 

The directness of the question made Roger blush even harder and his mind drifted to all times he had ridden Rafa. His throat felt dry at the untimely memories and he was lost for words. “Um, I didn't really think of what I was saying there” 

“I see. Thought it was your way of telling me something. Maybe a muse you developed over the years.” 

“Hmpf, no nothing like that.” He gave her a grin which he hoped conveyed cheekiness and embarrassment and not the reality of her statement.


	7. Chapter 7

Later that day, he found himself in his living room with the full attention of everyone around him. He felt like a deer caught in headlights but anxiety didn't have a place right now. It couldn't. This was far too important to mess up even a tiny bit. 

“Yesterday, both of you were asking me where mummy was. I know Nina said she was gone for some important work earlier. And that is true. She had gone for an important work with her car. I'm going to tell you where your mummy is now and I want you to be the brave girls you are when we have this chat. Is that okay?” 

Myla and Charlene had picked up on his serious tone and had gone deathly quiet themselves. An unusual feat for the girls. They nodded in unison. Roger nodded back, with soft eyes and an assuring smile. 

“Okay. First I want to tell you that Mummy is fine now. Remember that as I carry on. When she went to work yesterday, her car had an accident.” 

The gasp from the girls was heart wrenching. Roger continued. 

“She had to be taken to the doctors because she had got hurt.” Roger maintained eye contact throughout the conversation, measuring and improvising his tone and words based on reactions from the girls. 

“She has two places where she got hurt. One on her leg,” he patted the spot below the knee on his own leg to indicate where, “for which the doctor gave her a big fracture plaster. And the other her head,” again his patted the point on his own head to show, “for which she has a plaster too.” he paused again, giving them time to digest this. Then continued.

“But the head one is a bit complicated. You study science, you tell me what organ do we have inside the head?” 

“The brain?” Myla whispered, unsure.

“Yes correct, the brain is right. And what does the brain do?” 

“Helps us think?” 

“Absolutely. It also helps us keep memories. Like on a phone. We save photos and songs and so many things right?” 

“Also mum's phone tells her how much she walked” 

“Yes, that's right. So the phone remembers what we do and how we do it, just like the brain. What happens if you accidentally press the delete button on your photos, for example?” 

“You lose the photos” 

“That’s right. Our brain also has something like a delete button. If you press that area of the brain, it will delete your memories. But can you press the brain?” 

“No”

“No you can't unless you damage it. The car accident mummy had, she hit her head in a way which pressed that delete button area in her head” 

“So mummy can never remember again?” Roger could hear the fear in Charlene’s shaky voice and for a moment he hated himself for putting them through this at all. An irrational part of his mind screamed he should’ve never told them at all. He should’ve lied, made up stories, and pretended nothing had happened. But the rational part knew there would have been no point in delaying the inevitable. There was no way around it. So he continued. 

“Luckily for us, our brain is much better than the phone. The brain gets better very quickly. Just like you get better after you get hurt. So after mummy's brain gets better she will remember *everything* again. Our brain is much better than a phone isn't it? It can make itself better.” 

“So… she'll be fine again?”

“Yes, of course. Very soon.”

“Does mummy remember us?” And that was undoubtedly the most important question for her. Did her mother remember her?

“She knows you but she can't seem to remember how naughty you really are!” 

They giggled softly at that, the mood lifting ever-so-slightly, allowing everyone to take a breather before the next question came.

“Does she remember you?”

“She does.” 

“How come she forgot only us?”

“You know how we have albums on our phone. Holiday album. Picnic album. 2017 album. Melbourne album. We have albums in our brain too, like mummy probably has Roger album, Myla and Charlene album, our house album. Only some got deleted and some stayed. So she will remember some things and may not remember others. But when she gets better she will remember everything just like before.”

“I miss mummy.” Myla declared morosely

“Me too” Charlene agreed.

“When can we meet her?” Myla’s eyes glinted with hope.

“Does tomorrow sound like a good idea?” 

“Yes!” They squealed in unison, smiling brightly again after 15 whole minutes.

“Tomorrow it is then!”

\---

This conversation was practiced and rehearsed at least a thousand times in Roger’s head.  
Using technology as an analogy was Rafa’s idea. He reckoned kids these says identified most with gadgets and phones and so would be easier to explain like that. And indeed, it had worked wonders. 

The key, though, was to not get emotional. That was the worst nightmare because Roger was sensitive at the best of times. 

“They see you cry, they panic and you have no chance of control after that.” Rafa had said. And Roger couldn't agree more. They could not see him get emotional. It was not to  
happen. End of.

So Roger had used his time in the car on the way to his house to zone out, like he would just before a Grand Slam final. He analysed the situation like a match. On his serve, every word had to be delivered with precision of tone, pitch and volume. Every breath controlled. Every gesture purposeful. On his return, the psychological aspects were even more important. This is where his calm would be tested the most, this was where scope for errors was, and this is where confidence could abandon you. Every question from the girls was a ball he had to return. If he returns with correct judgement and confidence, the point is won. Errors happened when you got distracted, when the opponent got under your skin. The best way to deal with that was to detach yourself from the opponent completely. In this case his own daughters. Then it didn't matter who it was, a ball was a ball. A question was a question, no place for who it came from or what it implied. No place for emotions in a match. Because emotions don't win matches. 

And of course, while he did all this, over the surface there should barely be a ripple. The furnace underneath had no place for the public eye, or for the eye of the opponent, who only ever saw the tranquillity of Roger Federer. His girls could not see his detachment. They had to see him as their Daddy, even as he saw them as an opponent. 

This was something he never did with family, friends or even players once they were off-court, quite simply because it was not in his nature to do it. It was one thing to go in a bubble on court and quite another to be aloof off it. Over the years he had built what he thought as compartments: on-court and off-court. 

On court was where nothing else mattered: not the audience, not the cameras and most definitely not the opponent. Any ties of friendship and admiration had to be severed completely. Pausing to consider the person across the net as a long time idol, a friend or a lover equalled loss. It was a skill he had honed, practiced and trained hard for over his career; because he knew it didn’t come naturally to him to abandon emotions and practice such dry attitude. There was a reason he was so expressive even on court earlier on after all. 

Off court was where he could just be himself. Sensitive, dorky and generally friendly. He could not even bring himself to be overly formal towards other players on tour when he wasn’t playing. He was firm sometimes but never aloof.

When their relationship had first started, it had taken a lot of Roger’s mental strength to continue treating Rafa as a rival on-court because the lines felt blurry. He came to it soon enough though, the entrance to the court withholding all other influences as he walked in.

All in all, it was a system which worked for him – separating and balancing the two sides of Roger Federer. 

So, this was very new. He was gutted to have to even try it, especially with the two people who brought out the most tender of emotions in him. But the sheer emotional demand of the approaching conversation had him calling for his on-court Zen. Desperate times, desperate measures. 

\----

And so the conversation was over and the girls were back to reading story books and magazines of cartoons characters Rafa had never heard of. Rafa sat on the couch, watching the girls chatter but he wasn't really listening. His was still replaying the conversation in his head. He thought Roger did very well, he had exceeded Rafa’s expectations at least. Rafa knew Roger’s mental firmness, he had seen it in interviews and pressers and countless interactions off the camera with players and tournament staff and directors. But in none of those conversations was Roger ever emotionally aloof. It wasn't his nature. The Roger who walked in the house today evening, was the one Rafa had come to recognise as across-the-net-Roger. When he opened the door, Roger held his gaze for a second and gave a firm nod and a tight smile, exactly like before the matches. Rafa was so taken aback, he stared at Roger’s back as he made his way down the hallway into the living area. When he had gotten to the door to the living room, Roger had stopped and half turned, locking eyes again, “you coming?” His tone platonic. Rafa had realised he was gaping, and had stopped. Then he had nodded, closed the door and followed Roger.

Now, a blanket of seriousness seemed to have enveloped the house. Although the girls had resumed their normal evening time activities, there was a hesitance to their shrieking and squealing which wasn’t there before. Although they couldn’t articulate it like well, the news of their mother’s accident and memory loss had obviously left them stunned. And they were also getting a bit cranky; no communication at all with Mirka for two whole days now was an unheard of scenario for them. Rafa was glad Roger and himself had decided to keep their relationship a secret from Mirka. There were enough complications as it were. No need to make things worse. Before Mirka came tomorrow, he had to leave. No explanations could suffice the question of why he was spending his off-season here with Roger. 

He had booked an early morning flight because that was only one available on such short notice. He had all his things packed and had informed his own team of the scenario. The press had gotten titbits of information about Mirka by now, although the hospital did have a strict confidentiality policy for all its staff to adhere to. But really, that could only delay leaks. Roger’s team were already getting calls for a statement. So far they had denied everything. No one had picked up on Rafa though, and that was still something. For one it was less questions to answer for him and Roger later which was always good. But he knew the press would start probing further soon enough so he decided to return to Manacor and appear in the public there a few times - cut the rumours before they had a chance to surface, Uncle Toni always said. Roger too, was keen on returning home. His main residence, which was his fortress. Mirka and the girls were safer there, inside the compound of the Federer Residence, whose boundary remained unpierced by gazing eyes and prying lenses.

“Does she remember you, Rafa?” He was startled out of his drifting train of thought by Charlene’s sudden question. Who ‘she’ was didn’t need a clarification at all.

“I don’t know Charlie,” it was best to let Roger deal with these questions. 

“Why don’t you know? Aren’t you Daddy’s best friend? Mummy said you are like family, so you should know.”

Rafa was numbed by that revelation - Mummy said you are like family. Mirka. He hadn’t even seen her after she woke up, let alone spoken. How he wanted to meet her and hug her and tell her it was going to be all right. 

“Rafa!” This time Myla dragged him back.

“Oh um, I um” Rafa stumbled, unsure what to say.

“He is like family, Mummy’s right.” Roger spoke, entering the living room.

“So does Mummy remember Rafa?”

“She remembers Rafa. But she doesn’t remember that he is my best friend and that he is like family. So you’ll have to be careful not to talk too much about Rafa while she is still getting better, is that okay?”

Myla hummed her reply, attention already back to the books.

Roger looked at Rafa, a silent apology in his eyes. It was wrong to tell them not to talk about Rafa because Rafa loved them so much and they loved him back. Roger didn’t think it was fair to either of them. But Rafa shook his head slightly, dismissing the need to apologise. He hadn’t taken offence, and Roger took some comfort in that.  
Since this would be the last time for a long time that he would be spending time with the two young ladies, Rafa decided to make it memorable.

“Hey Mylie, want to play game?”

“Yeah!” Both of them looked at him expectantly, their eyes an upside-down half crescent as they smiled ear to ear, just like their father. Rafa could see glimpses of Roger in them already, and not just in the way they looked.

“You say. We play what you say. Anything not do with knee though!”

Roger sat and watched Rafa giggle and laugh and act like a complete child with his girls. He wanted to join in but he found himself wanting to witness more, relishing in the moment and storing it in his memory forever. Tears pricked at his eyes at the thought. So many more memories like this were locked inside the safe he called his mind. Mirka had the right to them too. She had witnessed them alongside him. As parents, they had always travelled the passage of time together, even after they had separated as lovers. They had watched Myla and Charlene grow and evolve into stronger characters day-by-day. And they had shared silly, highly parent-like dreams about their future. Even their wedding days, they had once imagined. It was a childish thing they had both indulged in till they felt stupid and dumb. Then they stopped, grinning like fools at their own wild imaginations. How do you translate so many memories through a reel of photos? You couldn’t. And Roger could only imagine the emptiness Mirka must be feeling. She must be feeling robbed. 

That reminded him that he had to go. He was spending tonight with Mirka at the hospital too. In fact, he was already late. He had said to Mirka he would be 2-3 hrs. Now it was more like 4. 

So he got up and walked over to where Rafa and the girls were squatted on the rug, playing monopoly. 

“Rafa’s winning, you know!” he observed, standing over them.

“Yeah…” Charlene replied, sighing dramatically, as if she were thinking war tactics to defeat an enemy.

Rafa looked up over his head, wrinkling his nose. He caught Roger eye and Roger nodded his head towards the hallway. Rafa nodded.

“I’ll be one minute, ladies! Don’t steal my cards!”

“No promises,” grinned Myla

Rafa grinned back as he followed Roger to the hallway and up the stairs. As soon as they were out of sight in their room, Roger squashed him in his arms.  
Rafa hugged back just as earnestly. 

“Rafa,” Roger almost moaned. His head in the crook of Rafa’s neck, breathing in the smell, lips ghosting over the skin. “I’ll – I don’t know when I’ll see you agai-“ Roger’s breath hitched in his throat and felt choked. 

“Rogi. Shh, it’s okay.”

Roger shook his head and hugged tighter, if that was possible. Rafa closed his eyes and just leaned into the soft curls of Roger’s hair. Their familiarity so beautiful it hurt. Rafa will be gone when Roger comes back here tomorrow, the empty room the only reminder that he was here. 

Roger lifted his head and found Rafa’s eyes. He could see tears ready to spill in them. It made Rafa look so vulnerable. Roger surged forward and caught Rafa’s lips in his own, moaning his name into his mouth. He sucked on the lower lip, holding Rafa flushed against him. Rafa’s fingers splayed out on Roger’s back and even through the fabric he could feel the heat radiating from Roger. Rafa moaned and pushed his tongue into his lover’s mouth, exploring it, memorising its taste and feel and quiver under his tongue. Roger just surrendered completely allowing Rafa to dominate and control, which was rare, Rafa knew. But he took the opportunity and brought his hand between them, slipping it under Roger’s shirt. He palmed his narrow waist and moved to his belly, fingering his belly button. Roger groaned and pressed himself against Rafa harder, thrusting forward. They both gasped at the sudden friction as two particular body parts came into contact. Rafa took Roger’s tongue between his lips, and sucked, hard. Roger fell apart underneath him. With his tongue between his lips and one hand still on Roger’s belly, Rafa moved the other one over Roger back, to the nape of neck. Where soft curls caressed his golden skin and where Rafa’s fingers loved to be. The moment he felt Roger’s silky smooth curls run through his fingers, he also felt Roger stiffen and pull back slightly.  
They parted, panting hard, breathing in lung fulls of air. Roger leaned against the wall to stop toppling over and Rafa steading himself with a hand on Roger’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure what happened there. Roger absolutely loved having his hair played in, especially the ones at the nape of his neck. Of course, Rafa was aware, they were in dearth of time and they had to stop soon anyway. But the way it stopped was what Rafa was finding strange.

Roger tried getting his breathing under control, because desire was pooling his belly, hot and ice cold at the same time. It ached to break contact. But it ached even more to continue. Mirka had touched that exact spot, that exact way, less than a day ago and he had purred into the touch. He felt horribly guilty for liking it, wanting it, even for a split-second, even if it was involuntary. Rafa’s hand there had felt just as good but it was his own pleasure that connected him to pain now. He couldn’t carry on because it felt like he was using Rafa, like what he couldn’t finish last night with Mirka, he was trying to get from Rafa. It wasn’t like that, he knew that. But he couldn’t help it. He loved Rafa so much and lust was not the basis of their relationship even one bit. And yet. He couldn’t.

“Raf. I’m- sorry. I- don’t know- I can’t, right now. I-“

Rafa studied Roger’s expression for a long time, before finally speaking. “Mirka kiss you?”

Roger head snapped up. Then he flushed and looked away, ducking his head again.

Rafa’s hand from his shoulder disappeared as he stood straighter. Roger was still slumped against the wall but had gone tense.

“Rafa, I- didn’t mean to.” He dared a glance and found Rafa looking right at him.

“Rog, I know when I say to you to stay with Mirka as a partner that this will happen. Is obvious, no? You can no live with her and not…” he gestured his hand between them to indicate proximity.

Roger felt even stranger now. Rafa had anticipated. Rafa knew. Rafa had guessed the kiss without a word from him. He felt naked. Exposed. 

Rafa sighed. When Roger was stuck on an idea, it was hard to take out. This would take time. But that was fine, Rafa knew this was a strange and unexpected situation. It was tough and unrelenting. Roger needed time to adjust to it all. He touched Roger’s cheek, urging him to look up. And he did.

“We no have to figure out everything right now, Rogi. I know is hard for you. Is also hard for me, is not easy. But I know is harder for you because, well… for obvious reasons, no?” Rafa smiled warmly and leaned in to kiss Roger’s forehead. Rafa sighed into the kiss and closed his eyes on the tight feeling in his chest. He had to let Roger go now. He had to watch him go. His heart broke at that. His heart broke at the realisation that where Roger was about to go was a whirlpool of emotions. He didn’t know where it would leave them and how. But still, he had to let go.

“You go now, Mr Federer.” A light tone in his voice as he pulled back to look at his lover, “Mrs Federer waiting, no?” It would’ve felt like mockery but Rafa’s voice was soft and not sarcastic at all. He gave Roger a wink of assurance. 

Rafa took Roger’s hand and led him out of the room and down the stairs. He let go in the hallway as the girls emerged. Roger hugged them both and kissed them goodnight and promised to come back with their mother the next morning.

He put on his coat, shoes and took his bag-pack. Rafa followed him to the door as the girls disappeared back into the living room. He stepped out and turned back at the doorstep.

“I love you Rafael”

“I love you, Roger”

Then he left.


	8. Chapter 8

It was shortly after 10 am the next morning, when Mirka was just getting used to the crutches as she practiced walking back and forth in the room. Roger made sure everything was packed and they hadn't left anything out. Mirka’s suitcase, his bag-pack and the crutches. That was it really.  
He collected the discharge paper and the other documents from the reception and bumped into Dr Morse on his way back to the room. 

“Roger, ah, I see you're all ready to go. Very good” 

“Yes yeah, Mirka’s just practicing the crutches now...” 

“Yes I just saw her.” he paused, “she'll be fine Roger, you just need to patient. It's hard I can imagine, but be patient.” 

Roger felt a deeper meaning under those words and he caught doctor's eye and nodded. Then smiled. 

“I will. And um- thank you so so much. We came here in shambles almost. You saved her, and for all the support and advice. Thank you” 

“Ah no, it's nothing. Just um, tell when she's good again, won't you?” 

“Yes of course. Of course we will” 

Dr Morse smiled and gave Roger a friendly pat on the shoulder as he went. Roger went back to the room.

“You ready Mir?” 

“Yeah... Good to go.” 

“Cool. Come on, careful!” He exclaimed as she started walking to fast. “We got all day Mir” 

She smiled hesitantly and walked into the corridor as Roger held the door. They fell into step. Well, sort of. 

“I'll um- just let Nina know...” Roger distractedly said, fishing for his phone in his coat pocket. 

“Nina?” 

He looked up at her. It was so goddamn easy to forget. “Our nanny, for the girls.” 

“Girls are left alone with the nanny?” 

“Oh yes, don’t worry, Nina’s great. You chose her” he winked as he dialled and she blushed. 

“Hi Nina, yes we're on our way now. Be half an hour. Yes she's good. I know, we won’t be long now” 

They got to the car and Roger first put the bags away. He then helped Mirka into the passenger seat and got in. 

“Okay?” He noticed Mirka had tensed slightly. 

“Yeah. No. I don't know. I... Have a funny feeling about cars now Rog. I can't remember a thing but it's almost instinctive.” 

“Oh Mir. Don't worry. We'll go really slow and I'll drive very carefully. I promise.” 

She breathed out, straightened herself and nodded. 

“Let's go” 

Mirka knew Roger to be a reckless driver sometimes, but he really was driving carefully today. He slowed to almost zero at every turn and corner, he stopped when the traffic light was amber rather than speeding past before it turned red and he didn't even try to overtake any of cars they came across. As the drive progressed Mirka found herself relaxing about the road. She didn't know how their relationship, marriage as it was now, was today but she was already loving him more than she could remember right now! He was acting so sweet. 

Thoughts of love were replaced by uncertainty as the 30 minutes started coming to a close, Mirka reckoned they were near now, she could see the landscape shift into even more serenity and seclusion. The suburban area near the hospital being replaced by countryside until all she could see was mountains and lakes and streams. And snow.  
As they got nearer, Roger could feel his heart-rate go up. How well will this meeting go? Myla and Charlene, how will they take it? How will Mirka cope? Will she be able to digest so much all at once? Will she get upset? Mirka was strong-willed but this had shaken her confidence to the core and he didn't blame her. He would have been much worse he knew.  
He could sense Mirka too. She was twisting strands of stray hair. Over the years Roger had come to recognize that an unconscious sign of stress. Some things never change, he thought. Habits don't go. He smiled inwardly at something being familiar in all this chaos. 

“See that little cottage type house there,” Roger pointed to a house not far away. Mirka followed his finger and a saw beautiful little cottage atop the hill. “That's ours.” 

And her pulse tore through the car roof. Her girls were in there. Maybe looking out of window. Maybe equally scared and excited and anxious. Roger had explained to her what he had told them and how he explained to them the phenomenon of memory loss. He'd also forewarned of the kinds of questions they could ask and how she could answer and anything trickier, he said, he'll jump in to answer. Mostly he told her to not worry. She was worried though and from how he had told her everything last night, she could see he was too. 

They were turning the corner now. The last corner before the driveway. And, here they were. Finally. Scarily. Excitedly. 

And there *they* were, peaking through the window after hearing the car. Mirka caught their gazes as Roger got out, oblivious to the exchange. They smiled so broadly at seeing her, her heart ached. Their smile was that of familiarity, recognition and welcome. She smiled back just as easily. And although she found emotion, she didn't find any recollection.  
Roger rang the bell, opened the door wide and made sure the path was clear before opening the car door to help Mirka out. The driveway was full of sludgy snow, which was the worst of all. Just as she got, she found an elderly lady rush out of the door to help her. Nina, she presumed. Flanked by two escorts, Roger and Nina, Mirka made her way to the door, where two little identical dolls were waiting eagerly. 

“Wait. Wait. Leg. Crutches. Wait” Roger reigned in the eagerness of the girls as they tried to get a hug. 

When Mirka was finally seated on the couch, the two girls flopped down on either side of her, and hugged so tight, she felt she was going to cry. They had made a chain of arms around her. Mirka noticed her own arms had automatically gone behind the both of them, wrapping them closer to her. They fit perfectly, she thought, just like she remembers hugging her mother and feeling the ease of the hug. The naturalness. 

Roger watched the entire scene with amazement, how does it happen that you just accept your own? Even without memory. He felt warm and fuzzy. And the tension of the initial reactions drained from his system for good. Now for the not-so-initial reactions, he thought, and just he was thinking that, here came the questions. 

“How are you feeling now Mummy?” Charlene’s voice was hitched. She was obviously scared seeing the crutches and the plastered leg and the bandage on her forehead.  
That word though. Mummy. God. Mirka couldn't stop the tear which rolled down her cheek. She felt like a girl herself till last week, as far as she could remember, when had this happened? Two beautiful daughters who called her mummy. Two lives she had brought into this world. 

“I'm better now sweetheart” 

“Mummy, is it true that you can't remember us?” 

Roger sighed and rolled his eyes. How many times before it gets in: don't ask silly questions. 

“Charlie, I thought we talked about this.” 

“Sorry Daddy.” 

Mirka frowned. She thought this one was Myla. Roger had tried pointing out some differences when they were looking at the pictures but really there weren't many, physically-speaking. And those that were there, were recognised by practice and well, practice need memory. Bloody everything needed memory. Which she didn't have. He had also tried telling her certain traits and nuances that were unique to each of them. Charlene always fiddled with the fork while eating. Myla liked to sit Indian style while playing. Charlene crossed her ankles when she slept. Myla always slept on the stomach and left hand stretched out. Charlene hated brushing her teeth. Myla preferred long baths to showers, every day. But to notice these, she needed to spend time with them. Till then, what? She couldn't keep using random affectionate terms like sweetie and darling all the time. That was just weird. She remembered what Roger had told her about her own likes/dislikes when it came to the girls: “you like their hair well groomed, always” he had said. 

“Girls, your hair’s a mess. Go get some brushes and bobbles. We're tidying you up!” 

The girls were so happy they practically pounced up the stairs. Roger quirked an eyebrow at Mirka. 

“Wait and watch,” she said proudly. 

The girls came downstairs with an entire box of various pink and glittery and shiny bobbles with so many brushes and combs of all the Disney princesses and Barbies and whatnot. God, I spoil them, thought Mirka. 

She grinned and got working. 

She French-braided Myla. And piggy-tailed Charlene. 

“There. Now you look better.” she said, smugly smiling at Roger who gave an appreciative bow. 

“Clever. Very very clever.” He grinned and quipped. 

Dork, Mirka thought. His eyes still crinkled the same way when he smiled. The upside-down half crescent. She noticed that in the girls too. There was no doubt they looked more like him than her. Who did they take after personality-wise, she didn't know. Or couldn't remember. 

But Roger’s laugh was still so beautiful. It was the laugh she had first fallen for. The dorky laugh and the baby-like teeth it showed.  
The rest of the day had pretty much gone like this. Figuring things out, showing things, explaining things. Roger telling Mirka. Mirka asking Roger. They'd been at it all day. Right from where the sugar and tea were to where the fuse box was. Mirka wanted to know everything. Again, Roger thought, habits didn't just vanish. Mirka liked to know and be in control and so far she had unwittingly lived up to that personality trait. 

The girls had been cuddly and cute all day, too. And although they were only here for one night before leaving for Zurich the next morning, they had put flowers in the vase; and stockings on the fireplace; and lights on the window. 

“They are so sweet and kind, Rog” Mirka was rearranging her suitcase, acquainting herself with her things, now that they finally alone in the bedroom. The little tornados gone to sleep already. 

Roger made a face, then replied “Meh” 

“Oh my God, you're so mean!” 

“You have no idea what I've been through talking to them yesterday.” 

“They're only eight” 

“Yeah you wait a week or two and tell me that again, babe!” He caught himself a second too late, it was already out, that affectionate term. Where had it come from, he honestly didn't know. 

Mirka, on the other hand, didn’t think anything of it. She carried on sorting the bag out. When she was done, she crutched over to the bed and sat down, settling the crutches against the wall. Roger was sitting on the other side and so she moved over to cuddle. She snaked an arm over his stomach and rested her head over his chest. She could hear his heart just under her head, its rhythm soothing. 

The night lamp cast a deep golden over the room. It soaked everything in a mesmerising glow. Roger could see the golden strands in Mirka’s hair, the way they caught the light. The rise and fall of her head due to the rise and fall of his own chest. He had been reading a book on his Kindle when she snuggled closer. Now he was just staring at the black ink in front of him. His mind travelled back to a similar moment back in 2006 or 7 sometime:

**

“Hey Rog, this one or this one?” 

“Does it really matter Mir?” 

“Duh” 

“Well, that one then” he pointed 

“You like red, huh? Over the black?” 

“Well you asked” clearly missing the playful tone 

“I know I asked.” she whispered, pushing the fabric catalogue away. 

“Yeah, but it's really upto you Mir, don't mind” 

“Is it up to me?” crawling diagonally, from the edge of the bed towards the him. 

“Yeah.” He nodded absently. He was still reading the damn book and hadn't even noticed the shift in the mood. 

“Not really. If I wear that dress I want your eyes on me all evening so really it's upto you” 

“Yeah? Why?” Still in the book. 

Mirka brought her face close to his and spoke softly in the ear, “Because, afterwards, at night, when I'm still in that dress, I want you in me” 

Now he noticed. She knew how to grab his attention when it was divided. 

He looked at her, pupils bigger and breathing a touch faster. 

“Why's that?” 

“Because you're going to look so hot in that all-black suit of yours” 

He grabbed her waist and pulled her down, her back on the bed now. The book forgotten. He bent over her, face inches apart. Looking into her eyes, 

“I’d rather you without any dress but if you insist, go for the black one.” 

She was almost disappointed. She had liked the hotness of the red. Then he spoke again. 

“Save the red for inners” 

And a beautiful crimson sprinkled her cheeks, much like the red of the prospective lingerie. 

**

Roger’s heart picked some serious pace at that flashback; memories of how they had spent the rest of that particular night making something flutter in his belly.  
Mirka must have felt the rhythm of his heart change to frantic under hear head because she looked up at him quizzically. He didn't meet her eyes, trying to keep up the show of reading, even though it was a pretty bad act. 

“Reading erotica Rog?” His eyes shot up to hers and he blushed. How could this woman be so blunt all the time, just how? 

He shook his head, unable to choke out some words. 

“Because one moment you were so calm and next your heart's on fire. Weird right?” Her voiced had dropped to a whisper now, barely audible. Her eyes locked with his. Roger tried looking away. Tried to break the moment. Just one awkward move and it would be over. Done. He could go to sleep. His limbs felt heavy though and he couldn't move. He felt like he was in a trance and his eyes didn't move. He could feel the fragility in her eyes. It would take a second to break but maybe forever to fix. The dark-brown eyes which sparkled like gold in the mellow light. Her soft freckles a mark of perfection. So close. He could feel her hot breath on his lips, the fragrance that was all and pure Mirka stabbed him like a dagger in the heart. Desire coiled deep in his belly. A fire which was put out 7 years ago, rekindling itself, setting him alight. Mirka leaned in and Roger closed his eyes. The Kindle long forgotten. 

He pushed her back on the bed gently, aware of the leg. Their breathing a symphony chorus, composing a melody which only rose to higher notes every passing second. 

“Roger,” she moaned, rolling the g and the r. Her head thrown back, neck exposed. 

“Miroslava” he whispered against her ear, blowing puffs of hot air against the expanse of skin on her neck. He traced his tongue from between the two collar bones, all the way to up the bottom of the chin, in straight line. Feeling the vibrations of her softs moans under the tip of his tongue. He sucked under the jaw, its softness striking him as both unfamiliar and familiar. 

Mirka pulled him closer, grinding against him. Urging him. Her hands found their way to his back, his smoothness a familiarity to her. She traced her fingers upwards, reaching his shoulder, causing some friction and he winced at the burn that followed. The bite stung under her fingers. Rafa. 

“Rog...?” she pulled him back so she could look at him

He lifted his head and met her eyes, lids heavy with desire. Guilt seared through him and twisted in his gut. She looked at him, searching a response. He just shook his head, dismissing her concerned look. She was too far beyond the point of probing any further right now, so she just splayed her fingers on his back and pulled him back down again. He went for her lips this time, sucking on the bottom lip, screwing his eyes shut at the memories of Rafa, the all-consuming burn of guilt and memories of their last heated love-making driving him insane. His tongue sought entrance as he traced it over her teeth, she shuddered and immediately gave way. He knew he had sought this guilt, he had wanted to feel Rafa was here when he was close to Mirka. He wanted it and now he had it, Rafa’s memories dancing through him like thunder. He swallowed her soft moans as he clashed their teeth and deepened the kiss. Lust an itch under his skin. He found his hands roaming her, undressing as they went. She was so soft, another contradiction to Rafa, and he moaned at his sense-memory. 

When he finally slid in her and came, he sobbed her name with a turmoil of emotions he couldn't quite pin down. She broke into tears too, holding him tight against herself. Why this felt like an out-of-body experience she did not know. Why did it make her feel ecstatic, like this was something rare? Like it had been years, she did not know. It probably hadn’t been years at all, she guessed.

Mirka woke up sometime in the wee hours of the mornings and wondered what time it was. She had seen a Cuckoo clock in one of the other 2 bedrooms but there was no clock here. She didn't know why Roger had decided to put a Cuckoo clock in what he told her was a spare bedroom. It had looked like a master bedroom to her if she was being honest. Although it was relatively empty, it somehow felt like it was well lived in. She decided not to ponder on vague thoughts and wild speculations though and to just go with everything Roger said. It was not really her natural inclination to stop using her own judgement and just blindly believe of course, but she knew she didn't know many things right now. And it was not a good idea, for her sanity as well as others’, to make people around her think she doubted the truth in what they were telling her. Because that's not what it was. It was only her enthusiastic, overly curious personality which led her to probe and prod. She wasn't a sceptic. At least when it came family and friends. For media and sponsors, it was a different story as many of them would gladly testify. 

She needed a drink but the bottle she had brought upstairs at night was nearly empty. She felt like a camel. But she was told this was a side effect. She sighed. She didn't want to wake up Roger. So she reached out for her crutches and hobbled out of bed. Stairs was the trickiest part. But she took a step a time. It took some time and patience but she got to the bottom in one piece. 

She got a glass and had a drink. There, quenched. She filled up the glass again to take upstairs but didn't know how to carry it with the crutches. She tried holding the crutches differently. She tried balancing the glass. She tried adjusting the two together. This was so annoying, such a simple task and she couldn't even do that on her own. And then the glass fell and smashed with a loud bang. 

“Oh for God's sake!” This was getting on her nerves now. And now what? Just stand here till morning or walk over the glass. Because she couldn't really bend down to pick up the pieces. Mirka groaned. 

Roger thought he heard a noise but it may have been a dream. But when he found the bed empty, he was not so sure. He checked the bathroom, putting on his pyjama bottoms on the way. He resisted the urge to call out, lest he wake up everyone else. He skipped down the stairs into the open plan living/kitchen area and found Mirka standing there in the middle of the kitchen, looking dismayed. 

“What the hell?” He squinted at her as he walked over. The floor cold under his bare feet. 

“Wait! Stop!” She almost yelled her warning. Roger stopped in his tracks and frowned. “Glass. Floor.” She pointed to the floor, then nodded to his bare feet. Only now did he notice the glass splattered all around her. His eyes widened in shock and he glared at her  
“Just came to get a drink Rog.” 

He still glared at her, in disbelief. “You what? You came down the *stairs*, with that leg and with those crutches, to get a bloody drink? Was I dead?” 

She flinched at the last word and kept her eyes on the floor. “Rog, I just...” 

“I just what? You just wanted to see if you could climb down the stairs, in the middle of the night without any assistance whatsoever, with everyone else asleep. You’re on medication with side effects like nausea and drowsiness. You could've *fallen*, for God's sake. In case you've forgotten, you nearly *died* 3 days ago.” His voice climbed higher and higher as he spoke and when he realised, he brought it down immediately. He sighed and shook his head, then wandered off to find some slippers. He came back with a dustpan and broom and swept the tiny shards carefully. 

After he was done he looked back to see Mirka still standing there. 

“Mirka I'm sorry” 

She shook her head. “It's okay Rog.” Clearly it was not okay, if her shaky voice was a clue. 

He walked up to her and pulled her in a hug. 

“Really, I am sorry. I was just scared to see you like that, to think you could've hurt yourself again. I guess I overreacted, again.” 

“It's... Okay” she wiggled out if his arms. 

“Hey Mir. Don't be like that” 

“Rog I just, I've only been around one day and I've already had everyone running around. I'm not able to do anything myself. I feel like a dependant. I know you and the girls and Nina care so much that you'll never see me as a liability but I feel like one and I don't like it.” 

Roger observed her for a long time. He could see where she was coming from, he knew the feeling. 

“Sit on the couch?” He walked over resisting the urge to help her more than absolutely necessary. He spoke again after they had settled and pulled over a fleece throw from the arm  
rest, wrapping them both in it. 

“Mir, last year, in 2016, I had a knee surgery. I snapped a tendon drawing a bath for Charlie and Mylie, believe it or not.” He chuckled softly at the absurdity of it. Of all places and opportunities wherein a tennis player could sustain an injury, that was the most unexpected and unheroic. 

“Oh my god. You had a surgery? You could play after right? You are still playing aren't you?” 

“Yeah. I could, I can. But that point I felt the same as you were saying just now. Like a liability. I didn't like it either. But all of you were so supportive, especially you. Because you didn't let me whine about it, you just went and did what you wanted. Bossing me around, not letting me do anything on my own, making sure I got enough rest. You were basically a pain in the backside.” His tone was teasing but he spoke of her fondly. 

“Really?” she wanted to know more. 

“Oh god yeah. So I'm just returning the favour of you being an absolute ass.” 

She laughed and rested her head on his shoulder. He really knew how to cheer her up and make light of a heavy situation. 

“Rog” 

“Hm” 

“What titles did you win since... well, since end of 2008. I figured you won the French, I'm so unbelievably happy about that by the way!” she squealed half way through, shivering at  
the visual of Coupe de Mousquetaires in his hands. 

He chuckled. “Yeah jeez, I can't remember the smaller ones but the majors, I'm at nineteen right now” 

She drew in a gasp of surprise. “You serious?” 

He grinned “Yep” 

“Which ones?” 

“So in 2009 I won the French and Wimbledon. In 2010, the Aussie. Then no GS in 2011. 2012 was Wimbledon, last one before the two this year.” 

“No biggies for 5 years?” 

“Yeah. Sadly. But got the Davies Cup in 2014! On clay too!” 

“Eh, that's an achievement! What about Olympics?” 

“No gold, but got silver against Andy in 2012.” 

“Roddick?” 

“No Murray” 

It was almost funny telling Mirka all this. She had been there every step of the way, court side in his box, sometimes stone-calm and sometimes excessively vocal, but he didn’t mind. Liked it, either way. To know it meant so much to her, even after their marriage had unofficially ended. It was great, he didn’t know what he would do without her, really.  
“What about Rafa Nadal?” Mirka couldn’t not be curious about his main rival, of course. 

“Yeah” Roger sighed “Nadal. He's gone places” and then he went on to tell her all his achievements, his 16 GSs and the world No 1 spot just ahead of his own No 2 this year. The 2009 Aussie epic and then the 2017 Aussie epic. How they shared the GS’s this year.

Mirka hummed her responses, head on his shoulder. And Roger narrated all the achievements of his lover proudly. He couldn't help feeling proud about Rafa’s accomplishments. Soon Roger realised Mirka had dozed off, so he rested his head on hers and stared into blank space. 

This was a good time to poke and prod about how he was feeling. He had managed to text Rafa a few times yesterday, keeping him updated and posted like he had promised. Rafa was sad he couldn't meet Mirka but that didn't mean he was any less interested in her progress. So Roger typed away whenever he could. The incidence where Myla and Charlene’s hairstyles acted as name tags, was something Rafa had found very cute. That was typical Mirka, he had said. 

Roger smiled at the memory. It was typical Rafa to find such things overly adorable too. Roger could imagine him smiling ear to ear and giggling uncontrollably as he read Roger’s texts. Then his mind strayed to last night. What exactly had happened last night, Roger still wasn’t sure. He had felt the stab of guilt about Rafa and it had somehow fuelled him. So it had been Rafa that pushed him. There had been a moment though, before he remembered Rafa, when Mirka first leaned in to kiss, when he had felt something different. He couldn’t quite pin it down. But it didn’t quite feel like a negative feeling. It made him queasy. He had loved Mirka platonically over the years, but then again, he always knew that so it shouldn’t really put him at unease. A stray thought entered his mind uninvited: was it more than that? More than the platonic love for Mirka the friend and ex-wife or more than the want-fueled lust? 

Over the years, love and lust never had the chance to mingle when it came to Mirka. It wasn't hard with Rafa around and Mirka in a space of her own either. She never attempted to cross the fine line between friendly and romantic after Rafa came into the picture. So it had been easy in the sense that he didn't really have to resist her. So it hadn't mattered that he still loved her because that was okay. He didn't expect it to vanish overnight. 

When the prospect of living with Mirka first came up in the hospital, he wasn't keen on it. But when Rafa convinced him, he thought he could do it in an almost altruistic manner. Live with her as if it's some kind of philanthropic action. He was indeed glad that he had chosen not to tell Mirka about their relationship because she was clearly already a bit shaken. He didn't need a better example of that than that little outburst on liability. So it wasn't like he was regretting, in terms of Mirka’s wellbeing. But he couldn't exactly like it either. He wanted to be more detached maybe. And he wasn't able to do that as much as he would’ve like. Last night’s love-making was proving a worry, but he stayed firm that all he needed was little more emotional balance. And control. That’s it, emotional control, whatever that meant. 

God, this was so complicated it was messing his head up! He loved Rafa so much and now he was getting pulled into *something* with Mirka and he didn’t even know what. He had to resist it, that’s it. Because it wasn’t like she would continue after she remembers all that has transpired anyway. It wasn’t like she wouldn’t retreat to being the Mirka he knew. Of course she would. This wouldn’t mean anything to her either. He knew that. Or he hoped it, anyway.

His train of thoughts was broken when Nina shuffled in to the living. He had been only vaguely aware of the glow behind the curtains lightening. Nina stopped by the door when she noticed them on the couch. None of his staff and family were used to their proximity anymore and so Nina shifted awkwardly, hesitating to enter.  
He looked back from the couch, sensing her hesitation. “Oh hey Nina, didn't know you wake up so early. You're up so early every day?” 

“Yeah. Just make breakfast for the girls and us and then plan their day ahead.” She strutted over to the fridge to see what they could have for breakfast.

“Ah right. Wow. Didn't realise how much you do Nina. By the way I didn't get a chance to say thank you properly for, you know, earlier. You were very supportive and thoughtful throughout.” 

“No no,” still facing the fridge, “You all are like family.” 

Roger was happy to hear that and he gave an approving chuckle. Mirka had built such a good relation with every one of their staff. It was very important to do that, especially when they had to be trusted with so much inner information and responsibilities. Wrong people, and unhappy people, were a good source of information for the outside world. Credit to Mirka, he thought. 

He nudged Mirka gently, “Mir. Go upstairs? You can sleep better there.” 

Mirka cracked an eye open and hummed her approval. They got to the bedroom after some struggle on the stairs. Climbing up was harder than down, he guessed. When they got in bed again, Mirka kissed his cheek. “Love you” she mumbled, already falling back asleep and pulling the sheets closer. Those words hadn’t left her lips in years, never for him anyway.

Roger petted her hair for a long time, just sitting and watching her sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okayyy so a few long chapters there... Hope you enjoyed though! 
> 
> Do let me know what you think, comments are always more than welcome! x


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, here's a Rafa pov as promised... Just a few things  
> 1\. To make sense of the flashback in the first half you should probably watch this video -  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMm1MOe_20o  
> You'll see why when you get there, just a bit of fun there  
> 2\. Then, right after the flashback, we get to a serious part where there is a lot about divorce/related pain etc. It carries on for the rest of the chapter. It's pretty depressing I thought, so pls skip it if it's not cool with you.  
> Thank you and enjoy the read! Do let me know of what you think of Rafa's pov

After returning to Manacor, Rafa poured all his attention into rehab and training. His knee was getting better but only a proper match would put it to the real test. Till then all he could do was hope. He woke up, he trained, he ate and he hung out with his friends in between. He kept himself busy. That didn't mean, he didn't miss the warmth on the other half of his bed when he woke up. Or the morning cuddles. Or the showers together. Or the giggling fits of his lover. Or the smile. Or the evening dinners. Or the nights. 

It just meant that he distracted himself enough to not linger on them all day long. His phone had become his best companion, bringing to him snippets from his lover's life some thousand miles away.  
He kept it with him all the time and charged it every night, taking care of it like a lifeline. 

Rafa tried not to wonder what Roger’s life was like now. He anchored himself everytime he found his mind slipping to imaginations and speculations. It was not good to do that, he thought. How did it matter anyway? Roger had lived with Mirka for years before he had even spoken to Roger. Still a pang of jealousy did manage to find its way into Rafa’s heart every so often. He shut it down immediately though. This was not the time to be irrational and stupid. It had been a necessity and he was the one who ended up giving the final push before Roger went ahead with the plan. It was something they were doing for the girls and Mirka. Rafa didn't need to be insecure about Roger after so many years together. He really didn't. They had built a strong bonding relationship over the years and they were both very much emotionally invested in the other. 

And yet, he thought. 

The Mirka of today, of 2017, was never Rafa’s source of insecurity. Back when she found out, she had taken a step back graciously. Though Rafa had no doubt that it must have been the most scathing wound she ever took. A fall like no other, almost humiliating and infuriating at the same time. But she never let that fall be a fall from grace. Instead she made it a fall with grace. And to top it off, she developed a relationship with Rafa which no one had expected, least of all Rafa. She took the initiative to invite him for their girls’ second birthday. She kept contact, texted after every win and loss and injury. She was as aware of what was going in Rafa’s life as Roger. In recent years, whenever Roger and Rafa spent time together in Switzerland, in their holiday home, she made it a point that Rafa was scheduled to come and stay with them at Zurich too, if only for a couple of days. With the family. At first Rafa had found this slightly strange. Why would a woman keep such cordial relation with the man who effectively stole her husband from her? He even remembered asking Roger why she was not angry with him. Roger had explained that Mirka was a very rational and level-headed woman; she didn't see the point in bearing a cold war with Rafa because of something that had already happened. It didn't make sense. She realised that this was going to be a life-long thing so why bother to keep bitter relations with someone who was going to be around all the time? Plus, the girls will have to be told at some point in the future and she figured the best way to get them to accept it is by having them grow up with Rafa in their periphery. If they had a good relation with him from start, it would be easier later. She also understood that Roger’s children would mean a lot to Rafa too and Mirka was a very sensitive woman. And anyway, now that they had unofficially ended their marriage, there was no logic in continuing to begrudge. She took her time to accept it but once she did, she did wholeheartedly. And Rafa was more than happy to reciprocate and soon enough they had found a dear friend in the other. 

But she didn't remember any of this now. Mirka was 110% in love with Roger in 2008. Will Roger be able to resist the emotional pull of all that love directed towards him? Rafa, if he was being very very honest with himself, didn't know. 

\---

Days went by alright. Nights, well…

He never had trouble falling into a slumber, as Roger always told him. That was true. The last time he remembered being so restless at night was during his parents’ divorce. That had been the lowest time of his life. Not only off court but also on court because it had dented his tennis soon enough. The breeze was cool here, maybe a bit too cool. The metal railing which his palms clutched was even cooler. It was December after all, even though this was Manacor. And from where he was standing there was no cover from the winds. It was the last building before the land melted into a blue mesh. His balcony was seafront and the view was beautiful so he reckoned the extra cold in the off-season wasn't much of a cost. The sea shimmered like a silver blanket of moonlight in front of him. He watched as the waves composed an elegant dance on the shore, tickling the sand every couple of seconds with the lightest of touches. A wave of buzzing ran through him as his mind travelled back in time... The summer of 2011

**

Rafa shivered as he saw it. A single finger tickling the surface of the water for a single second. Then it was over. And the video continued. It was a tease. That finger could've been tickling any surface, anywhere, and anyone. It was so obviously an overly suggestive shot. Or so Rafa thought anyway. And now all he could think of was that finger on him. 

Rafa stared at the screen as an unexpected rush of blood caught him in the groin. He blushed. And his breathing quickened. He was practically bouncing on the bed when the door opened. He jumped at the sound. So engrossed was he in his wild imaginations that he completely missed the sound of the car parking or the main door opening. 

Roger quirked an eyebrow. “Uhm..?” 

Rafa blinked. Then shook his hair. Roger gave him a funny look as he started undressing for the shower. He sat on the edge of the bed to take his shoes off first. Roger took his shoes very seriously, Rafa knew. Unlike himself, who just scattered everything around the room the moment he got in. 

“So did you see the ad? They said it was the final cut and if I was happy then they’ll release it.” Roger’s back was facing Rafa. 

Rafa craned his neck to see beyond Roger's back. He was untying the laces. With one finger. That same finger. It slid in the bow of the knot and tugged at it till it came open. Then he slipped it underneath the first knot and wriggled it open. His finger followed the lace till it hit the floor. He repeated the same with the other shoe. Then gently tugged them off. And Rafa watched with a mesmerised expression. 

“Uhm... Yeaah” Rafa managed in a choked voice. He was getting hotter. Or maybe it was the room. He wasn't sure. 

“What, you didn't like it?” 

“No no, is good. Is um... How you say... Suggestive. That's it. It's suggestive.” 

“Suggestive? You think? I thought it was pretty neutral, chilled out you know” 

“The shot. The water shot” 

“Oh where I jump in the pool? Hm I mean, it is hot, but is it really suggestive? People have seen me shirtless on court many times” 

Rafa shook his head. It wasn't the thin cotton shirt clinging to Roger insolently, showing his chest and hair and nipples, which had caught him. Although that was sexy too. It was the finger. The little tease on the surface of the water which caused a single ripple to radiate from the contact point. Rafa shivered again. And Roger turned to look at him. 

“Is it really that bad?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. 

Rafa sighed. “Hm no. People will go crazy over it.”

“Ah ok,” Roger chuckled, happily, “that's good then. It's what we want isn't it?” He undressed the rest of the way and made his way to the shower. 

Rafa sighed again. Sometimes he felt like he was still the little boy from Manacor who idolized everything this man did. Even if it was merely moving a finger. Nevertheless, it had got him worked up. He got off the bed and opened the bathroom door to a surprised squeal from Roger. He kept his face dead straight as he got in, undressing himself. 

“You really don't know what shot I'm talking about or you acting dumb?” 

Roger caught Rafa's gaze head on, brought his hand up to the spray of water, and tickled the water with his finger, the same finger, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

Rafa concluded Roger was just a big time tease as he pounced on his lover with a vicious kiss. 

** 

Rafa smiled to himself. He had put that finger to good use later that night. The waves were still dancing their dance beneath him. The cool breeze playing with his hair. How long since they last showered together? He didn't even remember.

He felt lonely out here on the balcony. But the room was much worse. And the bed was an open invitation to restlessness. 

His sigh turned to a frown as he watched a light flicker on on the ground floor. His room was just above the kitchen which led to the patio so he could see the light that came out through the kitchen window. Then he heard the door to the patio click open and close again. He watched his mother walk out on the patio to sit on one of the chairs there. His frown only deepened. It was very late. He couldn't see her face but she looked sad from the way she sat, facing the seashore. His father had left their family home in Porto Christo after they divorced back in 2009. The drastic downfall in his own tennis as a result was for the world to see. It was the year that had brought his first ever defeat at Roland Garros, since he won it first time. Then the Wimbledon had gone. And the US open was out of question with the knees giving in to all the extra stress and tension he was carrying around. 

It was around that time when he had started talking to Roger more and more. He would talk to him, and for a short while, and he'd forget the grief back home. He would pour his attention into Roger allowing himself a little drift from this heartbreak. He found solace in Roger. More and more as the months went on. As the divorce at home progressed. As the family broke. As his home shattered. Roger had been there all along. Keeping him sane.

Rafa looked at his mother, fragile in the night darkness, as she looked onto the sea. He frowned again and went downstairs. She looked at him with eyes like his own as he opened the door to the patio.  
“Rafa? You're awake?” 

“Yeah. I saw you” he nodded to his balcony just above. "So I thought to give you company...” he shrugged as he sat on a chair beside her. She smiled. And patted his knee. They sat in silence for some time.

“You okay?” 

She didn't look at him as she spoke, eyes still on the rhythm of the waves. “Nights are a strange thing Rafa. You look forward to them if you have company. And you dread them when you don't. Because they bring in front of you the things you've managed to run from all day long.” 

Rafa studied her expression. He knew what she was talking about. He wasn’t very different these days. But he knew what it meant in relation to her: she missed *him*. Rafa could see it every time she made two coffees in the mornings because, sometimes, even to this day, she simply forgot. He could see it when she walked along the shore on her own, with the habit of having someone else walking with her. He saw it in the amount of times he has seen her crying silently when she thought she was alone and hadn't known he was watching. He saw that she missed him. 

“Why did you split?” funnily enough he never actually asked her that before. Why did you do it? He knew the reasons that he was told. But he hadn't himself asked even once. Because he didn't find it would tell him anything more than he already knew. But today, after all these years, he felt differently. 

“It wasn't my decision sweetheart. It was theirs.” 

Rafa paled. As far he knew, it was mutual. The implications started to dawn upon him: a third someone? An affair? A betrayal? He stared at her. Speechless. Wanting to ask more but he felt tongue-tied.  
He watched as she looked at him, the realisation of what she had just let slip dawning on her. He watched as she saw him realising the implications. She had decided not to ever let that slip. She didn't want her children hating their father. She didn't want them to feel sorry for her in that way - like a victim. She sighed. 

“It doesn't matter now Rafa. It's been ages.” 

“He divorced you. Broke this home. Broke you. Me. Maria. Everyone. Because he found love in someone else after 30 years of marriage?” 

Her eyes softened even more. “Rafa I'm sorry. It wasn’t something I wanted you two to know. It wasn’t pleasant, that incidence, and it was best to keep you and Maria out of it...” She got up shaking her head, “didn't think wine could go to my head” she chuckled softly. She patted his hair “doesn't mean a thing now Rafa. Don't dwell on things that are no longer relevant. Time passes, people change, happens. It’s been nine years, sweetheart, doesn’t affect me anymore. And it shouldn’t you either.” 

He heard her head back to the house. But he didn’t follow her in. He sat where he was. 

He knew his mother to be a gentle woman. Her home meant everything to her and her family was her life. Rafa could understand why she had chosen to not say about this earlier. She didn't want him to hate his father. She didn't want to make the already emotionally draining process more hate filled. Rafa knew that was the reason. To protect him and his sister. To stop them hating their father. To prevent further damage to the family. 

When it had happened, the children, as in his generation, were told it was mutual disagreement. That both of them were no longer happy with each other. There were many things his uncles and aunts and grandparents discussed with his parents at that stage but mostly Rafa and Maria or his cousins were not aware of the specifics of the discussion. Back then, he didn't want to know either. He was in a turmoil of his own. He simply did not understand what no longer happy together meant. They were Mama and Papa. Mama and Papa were always happy together. What did not happy even mean? He was so perplexed with the basics, he hadn't dwelt on possible underlying reasons. He took it at face value, as uncomprehending as he had found it. Which, thinking back now, was pretty stupid. Had he not thought of the possibility of a third person in the marriage? 

A couple of years after the divorce, his father had introduced to him and Maria a new partner. He couldn't bring himself to actually like that little fact but neither did he bitter himself about it. Everyone needed company. He didn't think much of it. Now, with this new revelation, he was convince that this new partner was the reason of the divorce in the first place. Many snippets from conversations which hadn't made sense then were falling into place now. The third person. 

Rafa closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. He loved both his parents. But there was a bitter part of him, even then, that thought why? Don't you care for us? Don't you see what it's doing to us? Don't you? 

Rafa knew relationships didn't always work out. There were splits that happened for various reasons. He knew that. But he always felt that not enough weight was given to other members of the family. As their son, his world had broken. The scar still fresh in his mind after 9 years. 

Now, thinking his father had given up on an entire family for someone else, made him feel sick. Maybe he was being selfish. It was possible that his father may have tried to solve it, to save it, to balance it. Maybe he couldn't do it. Rafa knew better than to judge so blatantly because there was always the other side of the story. There was always a flip side. Relationships were complicated. It wasn't black and white. But he couldn't ignore his own pain either. He felt a growing feeling of something like a grudge, against his father. It was unlike to him to bear harsh feeling against anyone, he knew that. And definitely not his family. 

But the pain came back to him fresh and alive. The pain of competing at RG and getting crushed. The pain of fighting the mental battle of anxiety and depression and playing a tournament, that you were the best at, and losing it. The pain of giving your 200% and still failing. The pain of hollowness. Emptiness. All because his father was not happy with the family he already had. He loved his father even after that and even right now he couldn’t bring himself to hate him, because he missed him but he felt the resent grow. The contradicting emotions were exhausting. Rafa clenched his fists and hit the armrest of the chair, gasping as pain shot through him. A bruise of purple and blue already forming on his right knuckles. Good he was a lefty in tennis, he thought. 

Rafa curled up in bed like a ball, and cried. Just cried. He wished so badly that, somehow magically, Roger would come in through that door and spoon him. So he could cry in his embrace. But Roger didn't come and Rafa cried alone. All night. 

Morning came in its usual fashion. With sun and the promise of a new day. A new lonely day. Rafa stretched his arms as the noises from downstairs woke him up. It was nothing new. Just his big family creating a big ruckus. They all lived together in this house for a two weeks every year. So they could rebind as a family. His father only come sometimes, he hadn’t this year.  
Rafa rubbed his sore eyes. He had cried so much they hurt. He rolled out of bed and stepped in the shower. Letting the water burn him. That was another thing he shared with Roger, they both let the water burn them. He closed his eyes. It had been days since he heard Roger’s voice. They couldn’t afford getting caught so they were extra careful. They only called a couple of times and mostly texted but that was not the same. He turned the water off and stepped out. He grabbed his phone and called Roger. 

“Hello Rafa” his tone was a bit formal although friendly. 

“Hi Roger... You got time?” 

“Yes yes I know, how is the knee?” 

“Huh?” 

“Just um, you know, preparing for Hopman now” 

Rafa grinned. Mirka was probably around. 

“Hey Rog, I so want to kiss you!” 

Roger spluttered and nearly choked. Rafa knew he would be trying his best to stop the blush. 

“Rafa! That was so mean!” he giggled, the tone suddenly changing to a warmer one, and Rafa heard the closing of a door. 

“Is funny” 

“Raf I miss you” there was a hint of sadness in Roger’s voice

“Rogi” Rafa sighed and he thought his voice would crack if he carried on speaking. 

“You okay?” 

“Si si good” Rafa wanted to tell Roger. Wanted to scream. Wanted to call him here. But he wouldn't. Not now. There was enough already. Rafa knew Roger would fake an excuse and come to see him, if only a couple of days. But if he was being honest, Rafa wasn't sure he wanted that. He felt weird now that Roger was with Mirka again and he felt that if Roger came here, some information about their private life would inevitably slip into the conversations. And Rafa wasn't sure he could handle that emotional baggage with the one he was already carrying from last night. 

“What happened?” 

“Nothing big Rogi, I just miss you no? So I call. You got time to talk for a bit?” Rafa hoped Roger was free. 

“Aww Rafi, my baby, I miss you too and yes I do have time. We'll talk for a while, okay?” 

Rafa sighed in relief. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cuddle with Roger and just forget about the world. He was feeling almost desperate with need for emotional comfort and he didn't like the feeling. 

“Rogi how are you?” 

Roger sighed as he thought of the events of last few days, “Yeah, time's moving I suppose. Mirka’s leg casket thing is coming off week after next” 

“Oh that's very good news. She can walk around without crutches then. I had knee surgery and I hated crutches the most” Rafa made a face remembering the difficulty he had with those things. 

“Yeah I know... They're not great and they start hurting your shoulders eventually...” 

“Si si. Well it's very good when they come off” 

“Uh-huh. Raf, something happened?” 

“Uhm.. No why you ask like that?” 

“I don't know. I just had a feeling that there was something... I don't know.” 

“No no Rogi, nothing happen... Just going through the motions of rehab and all, is boring no?” 

“Hm.. It is boring. Hey Raf, how's the hamster?” 

Rafa had got a new hamster in Porto Christo last year, he knew he wasn't going to be around but his sister and Mary took care of it most of the year. So he had some company when he came back between tournaments and seasons. It was nice. He was one year old and was so cute. 

“He no hamster. He called Alp” 

“Yeah yeah, how's Alp then?” 

“Alp is Alp. He is happy. Like all hamsters” 

“How do you know all hamsters are happy? They could be evil or mean or sad?” 

“Um no. Hamsters can't be evil” 

“Why not? They could be evil and be plotting to destroy the world. Who knows?” 

“Si or they could be just hamsters and be cute. Like you” 

“Rafa, you're comparing me to a hamster?” 

“Yes correct” Rafa giggled 

“Rafa do I look like a hamster to you?” 

“Not look. But your cute no?” 

“Well. Cute, I don’t know... I like to think I'm incredibly good looking but not in a hamster sort of way!” 

“Alp is good looking” 

“Oh my God Rafa. Have you got a crush on him or something?” 

Rafa burst out laughing. He knew this conversation was edging on insane and had anyone else heard it they'd be sure to call the psychiatrist or something but it lightened his grave mood because Roger talking hamsters was just too adorable. 

He heard Roger smile on the other end. He had managed to cheer Rafa up, without Rafa even realising it. Rafa loved him for that. 

“Love you” 

“Love you too Rafi” 

They talked some more before ending the call. Rafa felt so much better already. He felt calmer. 

Rafa headed downstairs. Everyone had gone to the beach, leaving the house to him. He thought about his mother again. And the conversation. He knew there was no point reflecting on something that was long gone but he wondered what his life would be like if his parents were still together. The glitch in 2009 had played itself out on court for some time but it had lingered in his mind for a long time after that. It still did. He missed his father. As a boy, Rafa remembered Papa taking him fishing and swimming in the open sea under the open sky. In holidays, he remembered eating the barbeque he would make with his special sauces. On weekdays, he remembered being taught maths and science, despite his reluctance, because his Papa valued education as much as tennis. But most of all, he remembered watching Mama and Papa’s happy banter and jokes and laughter. He remembered seeing them happy together and how it made him feel safe. Like nothing could ever go wrong. Nothing can go wrong in paradise. And they had made their place a paradise for him and Maria. Closely knit and tightly bound. A family. That was how he saw family. That was how he had grown up. 

Now all that was left were memories from the distant past. Memories that were happy and joyful and colourful. But they were just memories; all he could do was yearn for those happy childhood years. Away from the media frenzy and popularity and fame, where he was just Rafa, the son of the Nadals down the road. He didn't even realise it was slipping from him till it did. But still he had had his family. To suddenly have that taken away too was like having a piece ripped from his very being. A piece that would never be replaced or repaired. It was gone. Lost in time. 

Rafa finished his breakfast and headed to practice. The morning sun and colourful streets greeting him as he drove. Toni was not going to be happy that he was already 20 minutes late. Start of another day, Rafa thought.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a flashback but it's paddled back a week or so from the last chapter on Rafa pov. It's a short description of when Roger brought Mirka back home... Just to give the feel of their house and stuff :)

Their welcome to Federer Residence by Lake Zurich had been grand. Everyone was happy to see her again after the horrible news earlier. Half the people she didn't recognize which was not nice at all. Toni’s daughter had shot up like a tower and was now a beautiful young lady, rather than a chubby little girl. His son, Mirka would not have recognised were it not for the unmistakeable similarity with his sister and father. Ivan, Roger had told her about. His children and wife though, she had to be introduced to. Seve was there and his family. She knew them, though again, children very different from his memory of them. Lynette and Robert looked frail and she had hugged them so tight, she nearly choked them. The case with her own parents wasn't very different. Diana, Roger’s sister, had twins too! These she was seeing first time (in her head of course), although they knew her very well and had exclaimed a chorused “Aunt Mirka” when they saw her. 

The staff, she recognised none. The cook, the gardener, the watchmen and security personnel, the domestic helpers and another assistant nanny, as she was called, were all unknown faces. She was told they were all trustworthy because she had chosen them all. So she decided to have faith in their faith in her of her faith in the staff. Yeah, very odd. 

Myla and Charlene were very happy to be back home and they told Lynnette all about the accident. Or at least what they had been told about the accident. Later, Roger told Lynnette all about it too. Two very different accounts.   
He had told her before, of course. That Mirka had forgotten everything that had transpired in the years. And about Rafa. And what the doctor said. And what he wanted changing in the set up if the household before they arrived. It was all planned and executed to the tiniest detail by Lynnette herself, with some occasional not-asked-for help by Robert. 

When Roger entered had his suite, their suite for the next few weeks, it was the perfect reflection of their relationship in 2008. Only in a 2017 manner. Photos of them, first date, first living together day, wedding day, honeymoon, first photo of Mirka with twins, first photo of Roger with twins and plenty of all-family pictures. 2017 Aussie Open, 2017 Wimbledon, 2017 this and that and more. Cards and flowers and whatnot arranged neatly, sent by anyone who knew of Mirka’s accident. It had almost looked like a newlyweds’ suite. With so much colour and celebration and mushiness. Roger had been, quite simply, stunned. 

When Mirka entered, she saw what she had imagined their suite to be like. Lots of photos and memories on the walls, colours and brightness and love. Everything that reflected their relationship. She was so happy and relieved to have found some hint of herself in her current life. It was a warm feeling, to not remember it but still see that you are loved immensely by your other half. Mirka's heart ached with love for Roger, she was so proud of him and everything that he was - a good son, a good friend, a good husband, a good father and a legendary tennis player.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks,
> 
> This one is from Roger again.  
> just a quick note here - when I refer to Mary in relation to Rafa, I am referring to Xisca (Rafa's partner). I believe he calls her Mary so that is what I've gone with. Don't confuse with Maria from previous chapter (that was his sister)  
> Thanks and do let me know what you think! xx
> 
> Also Belated Happy New Year to everyone! Have a great 2018!

This was the only thing that he was confident about now. Everything else was a chaos. This, he could figure out, he could handle, he could know. He tossed the yellow ball above his head, arched his back, bent his knees and allowed the much practiced motion travel up through his body. It was instinctive now. He didn't need to think about it. He brought his right hand behind his head as the ball started its descent, and lifted his right foot off the ground, grinding his left leg down against it. Like a spring he bounced off the ground. Then the racquet whacked the ball. The Federer serve. 

The ball travelled cross-court at an unrealistic speed and Ivan gaped at him from the other side of the net. Roger shrugged. He did it again and again and again. He didn't aim for accuracy. He didn't care if the ball landed in the service box or not. He just poured himself through the racquet as it hit the ball. His rotator cuff ached after half an hour of serving at unnecessary speeds but still he carried on. Let the pain drive him. The ball whacked the fence. It whacked the wall beyond the fence. It even got stuck in a tree at one point. He had done the proper practice already. Now he was just... He didn't know what he was doing. He was doing something. He let Ivan and Seve go after 10 minutes, knowing they had better things to do than watch Roger Federer hit pointless serves. 

He got into a rhythm, almost a trance. He picked a ball from the ball basket at his side, tossed it, hit it. And again. Again. Again. 

Pick. Toss. Hit. 

He was relishing the feeling of certainty his tennis gave him. At least, he was still good at something. Anything. 

Roger had thought he could handle the emotional tug-of-war. He thought he could stay calm in the eye of the storm. He thought he could hold himself upright when the ground underneath shook. 

What he didn't think was getting shredded to pieces by the double-edged sword of guilt. It didn't stab him anymore. It tore through him and twisted in his gut. 

Pick. Toss. Hit.

Every text. Every call. Every touch. Every hug. Every kiss. Every time, guilt guilt guilt. The sword twisting and burying deeper and deeper and deeper still. And every time he gasped for air. Gasped for relief. Gasped for release. But he didn't get any. 

His breathing was erratic and lungs burned from the sting of air rushing in and out every split second. But he didn't care. 

Pick. Toss. Hit. 

Rafa had agreed to do this, to let Roger basically sleep with Mirka and be her ‘husband’, as it were, because he had faith that Roger could do it and still step away, emotionally unaffected. Mirka was doing this because her lost memory led her to genuinely believe he loved her. She trusted his lies and excuses to the point where Roger almost hoped she'd catch him. At least that way he wouldn't be able to break her unconditional and unwavering trust every passing second. 

Sweat trickled down his face. It pooled at the ridge of his brows and some drops even got to his eyes, making them sting. But he didn't care. 

Pick. Toss. Hit. 

When he felt his commitment to Rafa call to him, he felt he was betraying Mirka because, for whatever reasons, in this moment, she didn't know about Rafa and she trusted him as her husband. 

When he felt the little *something* for Mirka - because he still couldn't name it or pin it down, the feeling too fleeting to be articulated even in his head - he knew he was betraying Rafa. He wasn't supposed to feel anything like that for Mirka. 

His muscles screamed at the heat he was producing, they simmered like fire in his body which only grew hotter and hotter. But he didn't care. 

Pick. Toss. Hit. 

The worst part was he wasn't able to do anything about either of those feelings. He couldn't lie to himself. He wanted to tell someone, just to take this immense pressure off. But who could he tell? He couldn't tell either Rafa or Mirka the truth of his emotional state. Mirka because, well, she was not well. And Rafa, because Roger couldn't bring himself to tell Rafa that he was feeling something for Mirka, only to watch his heart and trust break. 

They were both fragile in their own ways. They were both unsuspendable parts of his life, in their own ways. They were both important to him, in their own unique ways. 

Partly because of that, because it would hurt them, but also partly because what would he actually say? It was so subtle, this niggling *something* he had with Mirka, he didn’t even have a name for it. What would he say to Rafa? I’m feeling *something* for Mirka but I don’t know what that means. He found it beyond articulation, it didn’t even make sense in his own head yet.

Pick. Toss. H-

His knees buckled and he fell awkwardly to the ground, wincing as his knees hit the hard court. He panted, allowing his lungs to relax. His head was spinning from hyperventilating. His body scorched with exertion.  
To anyone watching, the droplets dripping from his face were sweat. Roger knew many were tears too. 

\----

It had been two weeks now, Roger thought as he walked back from his practice-slash-outburst. He didn’t know how many more were to come. He was feeling drained already. Physically. Psychologically. Emotionally. He had taken the time to cool off before he headed back to the house. He didn’t want people to see him in the state he was in and ask a million questions which he wouldn’t know how to answer.  
He was tired on being on the edge all the time. He took his phone out. His thumb hovered over the one name: Rafa. If he called Rafa now, he would have to make a pretty good job of hiding the pain he was in. Rafa couldn’t know.

When he had talked to Rafa a few of days ago, he could feel Rafa’s voice was simmering with emotions which lay just beneath the surface. Just out of touch. Almost hidden. But not quite. Rafa didn't say what it was, making up some excuse about how boring rehab and training was. But Roger felt it wasn’t that. And he knew it was all his fault because obviously Rafa was feeling low – he hardly got to speak to Roger anymore these days. Roger knew it was his fault. The least he could do was make use of the time that he was talking with Rafa to cheer him up a bit. 

That was another reason Roger didn’t want Rafa to know about his emotional conflict - Rafa was probably enough stressed anyway. Roger figured he if couldn’t take away that stress, the least he could was not add to it. So he locked away his urge to seek some emotional comfort in Rafa and brought up the hamster, whatever he was called, instead. Sometimes distraction worked best. Rafa’s mood by the end of the call had been much better and that was worth it for Roger. To hell with everything else. 

Roger pressed Rafa’s name on the phone and held the phone to his ear. He let out a shuddering breath as it rung, willing his tone to sound at least normal if not happy.

“Hola Rogi!”

“Hey Raf! I miss you…” Roger’s voice almost cracked and he stopped talking before it gave him away.

“Same no, I think of you all the time. always I look at the clock and think now Roger must be eating, now he must be training, now he must be waking up, now he must be watching TV and now he must be sleeping” Rafa pouts, although there is no-one to see. He really misses Roger but he tries not to sound too sad.

“My baby…” Roger spoke softly, aching inside. But he mustered up some cheeriness as he spoke the next words. “So, according to you what should I be doing right now?”

Rafa had though Roger would be eating his lunch, but he doesn’t sound like he is eating. “I thought you have lunch but obviously no sound like it so I don’t know. You tell me”

Roger smiles at the accuracy of that prediction “Well, actually I was about to have lunch!”

“Really?” Rafa is surprised he’s correct

“Oh yeah. Just done training and no one’s around so I thought I’ll eat and talk to you.” 

Mirka and the girls had gone out with Lynnette and Robert on a drive around the area because Mirka got bored at home. Roger had been offered to join after he came back from training but he had politely declined, seizing the opportunity to talk to Rafa instead.

Rafa smiles his brightest smile in a few days, “Rogi, I love you so much. Such a long time since we talked on phone”

“I love you too Rafa.” Stay strong, Roger told himself, stay strong. “And I know, right? It’s been like, what, one week? We’re just texting since that hamster talk”

“Si si, correct. One week… it feels like years no”

“That is just what I was thinking. Not used to being deprived of listening to you for so long,” Roger had always made it a point to talk to Rafa on phone at least once a day, no matter how busy both of them are, to hear his voice in his ear, to hear him breath and laugh and giggle and sometimes cry, if it had been a very bad day. The past two weeks had just torn them apart though, and he wasn’t able to keep up with that routine.

“Me too”

“So,” Roger spoke, breaking the trance of nostalgia, “how’s everyone else? Toni, Mary, family?”

“Toni is Toni. Annoying. His last off season with me on team no? He make most of it by annoying me!”

Roger chuckled at that. Toni was leaving the team officially in 2018, but he did have doubts as to whether he will actually stop getting involved even after that. Habits don’t go easy. 

Rafa continued, “Mary good too, she has own life no, boyfriend and his family and all, so she gone to stay with him somewhere. We had to make some public appearances before she go so everyone from media happy and relieved she with me!” Rafa snorted and broke into a fit of giggle. Like it was the media’s business to make sure they were happy together, or that they were together at all. Mary was a friend, had always been one, with a life of her own away from the camera. It suited them well.

“Of course, they care so much Raf!” Roger joined in with the giggling and almost choked on his food. They both knew it wasn’t that funny but they felt giddy, maybe even emotional listening to each other’s voice after so long, so they went with it.

“Rogi,” Rafa’s tone a tad serious now, “there were reports of Mirka’s accident no? They all quiet now?”

Roger got his giggling under some control to answer, “Yeah don’t worry about it, they couldn’t get their hands on anything. As far as they know, it’s all the same as before.”

“Oh good. Don’t need anyone to know. Stupid press people” Rafa made a face at the TV that was on mute, pretending that it was the media.

Roger grinned at the expression, “Yep, stupid press people indeed”

They sat in a conformable silence a few seconds, while Roger finished his food. Rafa listened to him chew and grinned. Even the great Roger Federer made a noise chewing food, if you’re close enough to listen. Rafa was always a noisy eater, never minding manners and etiquettes unless he absolutely had to. Roger on the other hand, was always conscious of how he ate, even when there was no-one watching.

“What you grinning at, huh?”

“I was thinking, you got a noisy mouth”

“I’m sorry?” 

“You, got, a, noisy, mouth!” Rafa loved teasing Roger and especially about manners and etiquettes because Roger was always so fussed about them. It never failed to amuse him.

“Have I now? Only because the phone is practically in my mouth”

“No, no you just generally make noises”

“While am eating you mean?”

Rafa blushed, amazing how Roger turned the teasing on him in a second with that double-meaning question.

“Um not just eating…”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah”

“I can’t remember what other times I make noises, don’t know what you’re talking about...”

“You know…”

“Nope, I don’t know what you were thinking about…”

“I was… nothing. I no think”

Roger suppressed a giggle. It was hard to stay sullen when talking to Rafa because Roger always found him irresistibly adorable. Especially when he blushed and Roger loved to put him in that spot again and again. Just to see how he would react each time.

“You don’t think Raf? Oh dear, that’s concerning isn’t it? I thought you were referring to like, our time”

“Oh, was I?”

“Weren’t you?”

“Yes. I mean no.” Rafa shook his head, why was he blushing about it, “Yes I was. I was referring to sex. You moan and gasp and talk and make all sorts of noises when I’m in you” Rafa was surprised how boldly he said that, without feeling shy or hesitant. It wasn’t like him to speak of sex so freely.

Now it was Roger’s turn to flush. He felt himself grow hard, just at the words. Recollections from their last encounter came back to him with full force and his breath hitched.

“Do I?” his voice almost a whisper, all other thoughts and feelings gone from his head. All that mattered was Rafa right now, in this one moment they had stolen for themselves. He was already retreating to his bedroom.

“Yes, you do”

“How Rafa? How do I moan?”

“Want me to make you?” Rafa could feel his own member showing interest. He was glad he had retired for an afternoon nap to his bedroom and that no-one was around to jump into his room, without knocking. His family and friends only knocked if Roger was visiting and even then, there had been a few not-so-decent moments when they had entered in their usual manner, causing the Swiss much embarrassment and Rafa much headache to get him over it. Rafa pushed all the thoughts away and focused on the phone.

“God Raf, yeah,” Roger moaned as he closed his eyes, falling into the bed. This was familiar, normal and comforting for both of them. Roger let Rafa carry him to a different world, away from the tensions and stresses of the here and now, into a land only they entered. Only they owned. Together. 

And Rafa indeed managed to get those noises he loved out of Roger.

\---

Roger woke up to squeals of his girls playing hide and seek in the corridor just outside his suite. That meant Mirka was back too. He swore realising how stupid it was to leave the door closed but unlocked and doze off in a state of half-nakedness. He hastily went to the bathroom and cleaned himself, strained his crinkled clothes as best he could and walked out calmly. Not surprisingly, he found Mirka in the room. A narrow escape he thought. Mirka may have asked a few questions if she would have seen him like that.

She was sitting on the bed, the exact spot where he had been talking to Rafa an hour ago. The feeling of guilt clutched at him and he shivered.

“You okay sweetheart?”

“Um yeah, good. Why?” he looked himself in the mirror, making sure his appearance didn’t give anything away. It didn’t.

“Just asking, not seen you all afternoon.”

“Ah yeah, I’m good. You? Enjoy the drive around?”

“The lake’s beautiful!”

“Yep it is. What did you like most about the place?”

“I don’t know. It’s got a good vibe you know. The water is calm and the view is peaceful. It soothes you”

Roger stared at her, amazed.

“What?”

“Those were the things you said to me when you chose this particular place, like a few years ago!”

“No, really?”

“Yeah, that’s what you said, good vibe, calming water and soothing quality and stuff. Those were your reasons”

“Oh my god, that’s so cool!”

“I know right!” Roger snorted, sitting on bed still giggling. 

“People don't generally change do they, beyond a point?” she grinned. 

“Nope.” He just noticed she was drinking from a cardboard cup he recognised as coffee from a local cafe. “Mirka!” 

“Yeah?” she almost jumped with him exclaiming 

“You aren't allowed to have food and drink from outside. Home cooked food for you for the month. Don't drink it, you want coffee I'll make you some. There's not even a lid on that one!” 

He took the cup from her and nipped out, “Five mins, I'll be back. Stay there” 

Mirka found it incredibly touching when Roger cared like that. He was extra cautious about everything related to her these days. As promised he was back exactly five minutes later with a mug. 

“Coffee! The same as you were having!” 

Mirka’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “how on earth did you manage that in five minutes?” 

He grinned sheepishly at her, “I got skill baby! It's got the foam thing as well, look” he handed her the mug as she looked in. 

“Oh yeah, love that the most!” 

“I know.” He watched her carefully sip the froth from the surface, without sipping the coffee underneath. She always did that, like a little girl. He had always found it cute. 

“Hey, you got some on your nose now” he pointed at his own nose to show where. She almost crossed her eyes trying to see it and Roger burst out laughing and nearly doubled over. 

“What?” Mirka asked, grinning herself. 

“Just the froth and cross eyed. Wait” he moved over to her and wiped the froth off her nose with his finger. She took his hand before he could wipe the tiny dollop of froth away, and licked it off his finger, looking him in the eye as she did. 

Roger’s giggles died down as he looked back and watched her lick his finger, fingertip buzzing with the sensation of her warm mouth. She brought the mug to her mouth again and stuck her tongue out, licking what was left of the froth from the mug. Roger felt his breath hitch as he watched her. 

“Thanks for the coffee Rog, it's really nice,” her tone was gentle and soft as she looked into his eyes, seeing the brown eyes look back at her.

“Mir... Don't” 

She moved in closer, “Why not?” 

“The door’s not locked,” he heard his voice sound hoarse. He knew it was a bad excuse. He was just finding it hard, to say the least, to use the same bed within the space of two hours with two different people. Although Rafa hadn't been here physically, it was close enough. He felt disgusted at himself.

“We can lock it” 

“The girls will be looking for you” 

“They just spent two hours with me. I don't think so” 

“Th-the gardener wants to talk to you” that, hands down, was the stupidest excuse he ever heard himself utter. 

“What?” Mirka frowned but a smile lingered on lips in amusement as she looked at him. 

“He wanted to talk to you. About what plants to plant for spring” 

“So early? In December?” Mirka chuckled at the oddness of his comment.

“Um yeah, he was saying that. I don't know. I just relayed his message.” Roger tried a casual shrug, hoping it hid the tremble in body. He was aroused. But he felt like he was betraying her, or Rafa, or maybe both, if he allowed this to happen so soon after the phone call with Rafa. On the same bed.

“You're odd Roger. Very odd” Mirka laughed, and kissed his nose, then got up, grabbing her crutches as she crutched to the bathroom. He heard the shower go on and sighed, closing his eyes. 

What was he doing? 

He got up and left, he needed a distraction. 

When he came back to the bedroom after dinner, he changed the sheets. They weren't messy really. They were just put on this morning. It wasn't going to change much he knew that. It was still the same bed. The same room. The same him. But it was the closest he could get to separating Rafa’s memory from Mirka’s presence. And it worked a little, but he didn't have the luxury to mind that. A little was better than nothing. 

When Mirka snuggled up to him that night, seeking nothing but warmth and a feeling of belonging, he held her tight and kissed her head. She had wrapped her arm around him and had tucked her head in the crook of his neck as she slept. He hugged back, wrapping his one arm around her and letting the other one slip under her head as a pillow. 

He felt something tighten in his heart. He was cheating. On who, he wasn't sure anymore. At least Rafa knew, he supposed, as distressing as that was. Mirka, didn't even know. Here she was wrapped in his arms like a little child, happy in her unknowing, almost vulnerable. He felt the urge to protect her, to keep her here, in his protective arms, away from time itself. She would never hurt herself here. His arm around her tightened a fraction as he drifted into sleep, moisture pooling under his closed eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

Every so often, she looked back to check they were there. She knew they wouldn’t just leave, of course, but she checked anyway. They were sitting on the bench and talking, laughing quietly. And every time either one of them caught her eye, their smile grew wider and they nodded at her approvingly. Then they went back to talking. She always thought they looked best when they were talking and laughing. Both of them would smile their biggest smiles when they were together. She loved them like that.

She felt happy. She felt warm. She felt safe.

She could see Myla on the swing from across the park and giggled, “You still can’t go higher than me Mylie!” she shouted to her sister.

“Yes I can, see!” Myla pushed her hands on the ropes harder, trying to get higher.

“Nope. I win in the swings”

Charlene giggled as her sister poked her tongue at her. She looked back at the bench to see if Mummy and Daddy had seen that Myla couldn’t get the swing higher than her. But they were still talking and not looking at them. It was good they were talking but they should also look at her and Myla sometimes. They were in a park so really, they were supposed to play with them too. Not fair. Now that Mummy’s leg was okay again, she could come and play with them. They had been extra good last few days since she got hurt after all.

She got off the sea-saw and walked over to the bench. 

“Daddy, is Mummy well now?”

“Her leg surely is better.”

“Can she remember us now too?”

“That, not just yet, maybe in some more time.”

“How much more time?”

“We don’t know yet sweetie… some more days maybe.” He smiled at her and she smiled back, then looked at her.

“Don’t worry Mummy, you’ll be fine very soon”

“Thank you sweetie!” she chuckled broadly and offered her a hug.

Charlene happily went into her arms and then kissed her cheek. 

“What about me?”

Charlene turned around to see him pouting. She giggled and gave him a hug and a kiss too. 

Myla came running from the swings and joined them “And me!” she squealed as she collided into the all three of them. They all laughed.

“Mummy…”

“Yes Mylie?”

“Can you play with us too?”

“I suppose I can, only a bit-“

“But Mir, the doc’s said to take it easy. You can’t play in the park!”

“Only for a bit Rog,” she said softly

“Yes Daddy, only for a bit. Pleeeeeaaaseee!”

“Fine, for a bit only though! And slowly!”

“Daddy you’re so sweet!”

“Well Mirka, she has definitely got flattery from you!”

“Like mother, like daughter Rog”

He laughed and shook his head. Then looked at Charlene, “Well, you not going to join too?”

“Can you come too?”

“Charlie sweet, how many people do you need to play in the park?”

“Four,” she was very sure all four of them were needed to have a fun time. She didn’t need to think about that, it was obvious.

He grinned at her as he got up to join in, “Someone’s witty, isn’t it?”

“What’s itty?”

“Witty. Means funny and clever”

She was happy to be called clever, although she wasn’t sure about funny. Wasn’t that supposed to be like jokers? Funny and silly, who fall over and make everyone laugh. She makes a face. Oh well, whatever he said must be fine. She didn’t have to worry about it. She took his hand as she led him to the swings. His hand was much bigger than hers and stronger. Sometimes she couldn’t wait to grow up and be like him. Strong and fast and a winner. She wanted to play tennis too. But she still had to study too. Which was annoying. But she didn’t have a choice. She pouted.

“What’s up?”

She looked up to see him watching her. She shook her head, already forgetting what she had been thinking. “Daddy can you push the swing for me?”

“Course I can.”

“Charlie, I’m getting Mummy to push it for me”

“Mine will still be higher though. Daddy’s stronger!”

“No Mummy’s stronger!”

“No Daddy is!”

Even as Charlene argued with Myla, she watched *her* reaction from the corner of eye. To see how long they would argue before she steps in. Charlene could tell the exact moment when she decided to put an end to the squabble. 

“Shhh, alright now, we’re all strong, sound good?” 

“Okay fine!” Myla quipped, ending the soon-to-be fight. Charlene giggled and Myla joined in.

Myla’s swing went higher than hers but she thought Daddy was holding back from going full speed. Maybe he wanted to let Mummy win. She didn’t mind. She wanted Mummy to win too. It was Mummy’s first time playing with them after her accident after all.

So she just enjoyed the swing. Happy that Myla, Mummy and Daddy were all happy too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit experimental, but I really enjoyed writing it! I don't know how it feels to you guys as readers, please do let me know! xx


	13. Chapter 13

He flopped down his bed with exhaustion. When Mirka walked in, she thought he looked a kid trying make an angel in the snow, only face down. She grinned to herself. She intended not to make noise as she approached the bed, now that her crutches couldn’t give her away. 

“Hey Mir. All good?” 

“All great” How did he sense her? She was being super quiet. 

“Perfect.” just what he wanted to hear. 

“Tired?” 

“Exhausted.” 

She sat on the bed next to his lying form. 

“Aw baby, massage?” 

“No no no. Not that bad. And you shouldn’t strain and stuff. Or use too much pressure. Internal bleeding.” He sat up, on his haunches. 

“You weren't allowed straining and stretching Mirka” 

“Yeah so, I haven't done any” 

“No the pushing the swings, and all that...” 

“Nah” she waved a dismissive hand, signalling him not to worry “it wasn't so bad” 

He observed her for a few seconds before flopping back down on his stomach, head turned to her this time rather than buried in the bed. She didn't want to make a big deal out of it but she felt pretty tired too, so she flopped down next to him, watching him watch her. 

She smiled at him and he smiled back. It wasn't a big smile, just a faint lifting of the corners of his mouth. She looked at the ceiling, it was higher than the last home she could remember back in 2008. The entire house was a hundred times bigger than the last one she remembered. She sighed. So many years. But she was happy that Roger was still by her side, after all that time. 

Still looking at the ceiling, she whispered, “Love you”

When she looked back, he had dozed off. She watched him in peace, basking in the opportunity to just look at him without any distractions and interruptions.

\---

They had both dozed off it seems. And no one had woken them up. It was 10 at night when Mirka blinked her eyes open. She reached her hand to the nightstand and switched the lamp on. By the table near the window, there was a large glass bowl, two plates and two forks, with a note on top. She walked over. 

‘Darling, I had come in to call for dinner earlier but found you two fast asleep and thought you'd both be exhausted. So I've put some cold pasta in a bowl on the table with plates and forks (It was made to suit your diet plan Mia, so eat away!).  
Do eat when you wake up.  
Lynnette xx’ 

By the end, Mirka was almost crying. She was so touched with the love and affection. She knew Lynnette had always loved her, all the way back from their first introduction, but this was so sweet it hurt. The affectionate use of 'Mia’, Mirka remembered, had always been there. That is what Lynnette called her - Mia. Mirka stifled a wave of nostalgia and folded the note. She was going to keep this one. 

She sat down on the chairs by the side-table, and forked the pasta out for both of them. 

“Rog...” she called out softly. 

“Baby” she repeated, even softer. She set the plate down and hopped over to the bed on one leg, a risky feat she knew but her newly-healed leg was aching a bit with all the playing in the park. She settled beside his head and ran her hand through his hair. He stirred. 

“Yeah?” 

“Food?” 

“Yeah” 

“Look, Lynn’s kept it here for us. We were asleep for so long. It's 10 right now” 

He groaned rubbing his eyes awake. Then sat up, getting his bearings. 

“Smells nice” he mumbled

“Yep. Cold pasta. Come on” 

She got up and started hopping her way back. She could feel him stare at her. 

“Oh my god, what do you think you are doing.” 

He held her hand as she hopped back and sat down. 

“Nothing much, just having some fun” she replied, shrugging causally. Why worry him with the slight aches here and there? He was worried for her enough these days as it is.

“By hopping?” 

“Yeah got bored of walking” 

“You got bored? You only just started walking properly today.” 

“Yeah well. Hopping is more innovative.” 

“And dumb” 

“Maybe a bit, more innovative though” 

“Are you just mad or are you making a really good act of it?” she knew he was joking because she heard the slight humour in his tone, but a random thought caught her attention.

“Aren't I like this anymore Rog? Have I changed so much?” 

He looked at her, confused, fork stopping inches from the mouth, and caught her serious tone 

“Like what Mir?” 

“Like, not fun. Am I just dead serious and stuff now? Like taking everything very seriously, not doing fun things?” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Well you sometimes expect me to very serious and am not being, so maybe I thought I was just a very serious person now” she shrugged.

“Oh god no, nothing like that. You're still stupid, if that’s what you mean.” 

She rolled her eyes as he smiled. Then his expression changed to slightly more serious.

“I've been maybe too serious, last few weeks, only because... Well, that night… you had really scared me Mirka. You really had. At that point, I thought I had...” he faltered and she could hear the hesitation in his voice

“Lost me?” 

“God don't even say it like that.” 

“Sorry.” 

“No, no... I just. In the hospital I - the doctor said if she makes it through the night she has her chances. That's how he’d put it. So blunt and plain. Like it's the most casual thing to say. Like it wouldn't change much if you didn't make it. It would’ve shattered me. The girls, what would I say to them? That your mummy went out and now you'll never see her again, ever. To mum and dad, to your mum and dad. What would I have said? How would I break the news?” he held his face in his hands, emotions just pouring out now. He tried stifling his sobs in his palms but not to much avail. Mirka reached out from across the table, stroking his arm soothingly. 

“Roger. Sweetheart. I'm okay though, aren't I? Am alright. Now even the leg is back to normal” 

Roger nodded frantically, and she could see him trying to stop the sobbing but the flood gates had just opened now. 

“Mirka. I- I'm sorry I'm being like this” 

“Oh don't be stupid. You don’t need to be sorry about that.” 

“I'm crying though” 

Despite herself, Mirka chuckled, dork. 

“Come to bed baby?” They had finished eating anyway. 

He nodded and went to bed. Then came back to help with the crutches. Then realised she didn’t need them anymore and giggled between the tears, mumbling an apology.

Mirka let him just snuggle into her arms in the bed and cry. She rubbed his back soothingly and watched as he sobbed, tears soaking into her top. But she didn’t mind. 

“Everything's going to be alright Roger. Everything's going to be alright...” Mirka didn’t know if there was anything wrong at all for it to be alright but she had a distinctive feeling Roger was bottling up many things.  
His sleep was often disturbed. His appetite wasn’t bad but it wasn’t great either. She had gathered that from his medical team, especially his dietitian who she overheard trying to devise a new plan to get all the nutrients in now that his food intake was lower. From what Seve and Ivan were saying, his practice was going good but there would be times where he would just zone out sometimes, like he wasn’t really there. It wasn’t affecting his overall game and attention so they decided not to bring it with to him. They hadn’t brought it up with her either, they just hadn’t noticed she was in the same room till much later. They had brushed it under the carpet as soon as they had realised. But she had picked up that something was a bit off. 

She didn't know what it was though, and she had tried to gauge a few times by asking him if he was alright. Predictably enough, he had been tight lipped about it but that was enough to tell her that there was something that was nagging him. She didn’t press too much though - if he didn't want to tell, he would not tell, no matter what. Still, she could sense his uneasiness, his restlessness, and his agitation.

Mirka watched his shoulders shake and heard the low sobs. She let out a breath she was holding and let her head fall back on the headboard, eyes on the ceiling now. She felt so helpless in that one moment. Here he was, in front of her, in her arms, and yet he was so distant. So far away. She didn’t even realise she had tightened her grip around him, just a tiny bit but he took notice and looked up at her. She was looking at the ceiling, her eyes a stash of tears too. 

“Why you crying?” he asked between his own sobs. She shook her head, still not looking at him. She wanted to tell him that she was crying because he was crying. But she didn’t. 

She saw him rub his eyes from the corner of her eye. Trying to calm down. To bring himself under some control.

“How did you find it at first Mir?” 

“Find what Rog?” 

“Everything. The memory loss…” 

She looked at him now, but he had resumed his original position so she only saw the top of his head which was rested on her chest. She thought about the question long and hard, trying to organise the many thoughts into words. 

Mirka had never experienced a feeling like it before and she never wanted to again. After she woke up, when she saw Roger, the girls, the family and staff and anyone and everyone, she saw recognition in their eyes. They knew her. She could see in their eyes a reflection of her own self, as she was in 2017. But when she looked into her own eyes in the mirror, all she saw was 2008. The first time Mirka had looked into the mirror, she felt sick; she did not recognise the much older face that looked back. It was like being suddenly moved to the future in a time machine. The reality of the situation sank in more and more as days went by - she was not herself. She felt it all around her. But she couldn’t recollect it within her own mind. 

“I felt empty, I suppose. I still do but first it was so much worse… Like a... train I was on, dropped me off at some random station and left me there. Like a... Child lost in a fair. Lost. Everything too much, towering over you. Everyone around knows what they're doing but you are lost. I suppose it’s better to be lost together than be lost alone in a crowd of knowers.” 

Roger looked up at her again. And just stared and stared and then some. She waved the hand in front of his face, snapping him out of the trance.

He blinked, “yeah?”

“You not going to say anything?”

“Yeah, um, I mean, that was intense. I can never imagine what it must be like for you Mirka. To not know. To forget. To struggle for finding coherence in everyday life...” 

She just nodded, eyes fixed on him. The curls that fell on his forehead and the pink that caressed his cheeks. Beautiful. Always beautiful. He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed somewhere random, possibly contemplating on how she must be dealing with the memory loss. His demeanour was different today. She obviously gathered that from his crying earlier but he looked a bit disoriented if she was being honest. And right now all she wanted to do was to sooth him. Take his mind off it. Make him feel better, if only for a while. She knew talking wouldn't help because he wouldn't open himself up to her, for reasons best known to him. So she figured the other best remedy was, well, herself. 

She moved her left hand to his cheek allowing her thumb to draw soft, soothing circles. Her right hand which was rubbing his back till now, she moved up to his hair and allowed her fingers to run through them. Rubbing and massaging. He had buried his face in the crook of her neck and closed his eyes like holding himself up was an effort he did not have energy for, the rise and fall of his chest shallow and rhythmic. She let her left hand move to his ear, tracing the outline of it before dipping it behind his ear – rubbing a spot she knew to be sensitive for him. Roger almost shivered with it. She brought her right hand her hand down the nape of his neck to the first bone of his spine and let her fingers circle it gently. A bundle of nerves here which made it another sensitive spot.

She heard him take a deeper breath in. She could hear his breathing fasten. But he didn't even move a muscle. He just sat there, face buried in the crook of her neck. He didn't kiss or suck on her neck. Neither did he bring his hands up touch her. He let them fall loosely as they had been for the past hour now. 

Mirka’s heart sank even more. Why was he being so passive today? Over the last three weeks, Mirka had noticed that whenever they had sex Roger took over. He controlled the pace and the rhythm the entire time. A small part at the back of her mind wondered if he just wanted to get it over with because it wasn't like his taking over was any sign of passion or roughness. He was just quick, he didn't play around, didn't try to prolong the experience, didn't try to make the most of the night. 

She never felt any reluctance as such, of course. He'd never directly done or said or even hinted at anything that would make her feel like he didn't want her or any other negative feelings. But still, she felt like there was something different about him than what she remembered. Whether this was also linked to the other things she had noticed about his diet and practice and all, she didn’t know. It could just be that the years changed him, like they do all people. Maybe he just wasn't the overly enthusiastic boy that she remembered anymore. Maybe sex had changed to a need fulfilment rather than a want now, and that was fine she supposed. It wasn't like she was complaining or wanted more. It was just something she couldn't help observing.

But today he wasn't even trying to take over, unlike all the other times. He seemed worn out to her more than anything else. Maybe little resigned, she couldn’t tell. He hasn't been in the best of moods today evening, emotions having their way with him. It wasn’t like he was letting her take control in an erotic way or anything, it was like he was too tired to even think. She could feel it in the way he had curled up. 

So she decided to go with it. She gently lay him on his back, and propped a pillow under his head. His eyes were closed but he wasn't asleep, if his breathing was anything to go by. She moved up to him and rested her head in the crook of his neck, placing soft kisses on the even softer skin there and she felt him swallow. She brought hand to shirt and tugged at it, allowing it slip in. She ran her fingers through the soft splattering of hair on belly and moved her hand upwards, over his chest. Under her, his heart was frantic. There was a soft sheen of sweat over his body now. 

“Rog?”

He hummed his reply 

“You okay?”

Again he hummed his reply. Mirka was unsure whether he wanted to carry on because did a lack of response mean he wanted to just sleep? She didn't want to push him if this wasn't what he wanted right now. He wasn’t protesting but he wasn’t responding either. He just lay there, limp and motionless. 

She probably must've stopped moving because he opened his eyes to look down at her. They were hooded and glazed and drawn down. Dark circles under them stood out even more, the red rims from all the crying visible from this angle. He brought his hand up and stroked her cheek once with the back of it. Just that. That's it. Then he closed his eyes again, letting the hand fall back to his side. Mirka guessed that was his way if telling her that she wasn't pushing him and she didn't need to worry. 

So let her hand carry on as she sucked under his jaw. She let her hand hover slightly over the waistband of his jeans, because he hadn’t even changed since coming back from the park, and watched his face. At the tiniest hint of reluctance she decided she would withdraw immediately. But nothing crossed his face, neither excitement nor unease. 

She let her hand slip in and roll the jeans down. He was hard. And his breathing matched hers, rapid and arrhythmic. Apart from that, he didn't stir. 

Mirka found his hands and locked their fingers together as she sank on him. Taking him in. His back arched at that and that was the closest he had gotten to a reaction in the entire encounter so far. His grip on her hands tightened as she rode him and his eyes screwed shut. 

She watched his back arch all the way, his fingers tighten further still around hers and his head grind against the pillow as he came in her. She let him cool down before lifting herself off him, covering him with the sheets and snuggling up to him. She hadn't come. But really, she couldn't care less right now. 

He was asleep by the time she got off him. She reached out to switch the lamp off and just before the darkness enveloped them, she saw some fresh wetness under his lashes. 

Mirka let herself sob silently by his side as she clutched on to his arm, fearing she would drown in the darkness if she let go. 

\---

Morning came in it's usual fashion. Nothing new or different about it. 

Mirka didn't realise Roger was not by her side till the alarm went off. She switched it to snooze and just as she was drifting back she realised the bed was empty. She sat up, feeling unusually uneasy in his absence. She got out of bed abruptly and felt a wave of dizziness washed over her. She sat back down and blinked slowly. She was feeling extraordinarily fatigued. She ached like hell. Her energy felt like it was sucked out. She frowned, wondering what was wrong.

Roger walked in just at that point with a tray of food.

“Hey. Morning. Got food” his tone was tired as he walked in.

She managed a weak smile. 

“Wow thanks”

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah” she sounded unsure herself, still trying to figure out what was happening.

“You're looking pale Mirka”

“Yeah I'm feeling a bit tired Rog. Don't know why”

The sex? She thought about it. She hadn't actually done anything herself in the past few weeks because, well, first the leg didn’t allow much and second, Roger was always in control. Last night she had moved though, not him. And all day before that, she'd been playing with the girls in the park. She had been a bit tired when they got home anyway and then on top of that...

She saw him observing her. She could see he was thinking something, making some calculations as to why she might be tired. Then he simply nodded and set the tray down on the bed. 

“Mir I was thinking...”

“Hm”

“Maybe I should sleep in the guest room for a few days...”

“What? Why?”

“Mirka look, you need some rest yeah? Now you're already feeling tired. Your leg’s just gotten better. The internal bleeding is yet to fully heal though. I don't want you feeling worse after this point now...”

“Yeah so I can rest even with you here...”

“Didn't work last night did it Mir? My fault to be honest... I don't know what I was thinking to let you- I wasn't even thinking to be honest... Jesus, you weren't supposed to do that with the internal injuries and all. And now look where I've gotten you!”

“Rog it wasn't your fault...”

He smiled a bitter smile. “Yeah sure. Anyway, like it or not, I'm taking the guest room for a few days”

“But Rog-”

“I'm sorry Mir” he kissed her gently on the cheek and walked out. Her heart broke as he walked out. He was already feeling low, for whatever reasons, and now she had given him another reason to feel bad about. Great. Well done Mirka, she told herself. 

\---

Mirka could find no sleep that night. She missed Roger’s warmth next to her. She missed him pressed against her. She missed his hushed words and reassuring kisses. How stupid of her to even tell him she was feeling tired. Like he wouldn’t do much about it. He had practically put her in bedroom arrest for the rest of the day and now he had left her alone. In a room she was just starting to find familiar. Three weeks in a room was enough to get used to it, but not enough to start feeling entirely secure in it. She needed Roger.

She decided she really hated this and hopped of bed, with her crutches now gone she felt so liberated and free. The guest room was only nearby, as Roger had assured her, so she figured she could find it without getting lost. Yes, the house was so huge, it was very easy to lose yourself in it. It was a labyrinth for someone who didn’t know it. She had tried to get used to the basic structure of it but her crutches prevented from exploring too much so she was still figuring things out. She wandered around the corridor till she found a door named guest suite. Of course, this was a suite too. There wasn’t just a bedroom in this house, they were all suites – mini apartments with a living area, a kitchenette, a bathroom and a bedroom. She opened the door and slipped in. she didn’t want to wake up Roger, she was just planning on cuddling up to him so she wouldn’t feel so lonely. When she got to the bedroom, she heard talking. She realised it was Roger, he was talking in his sleep. Mirka frowned. That was not a good sign. She moved towards the bed when the words started making sense,

“I’m sorry! Honestly am! Just forget this, okay?”

Her frown deepened. It was a nightmare. Poor Roger. She knew he had nightmares often but she hadn’t noticed many in the last three weeks. She wondered whether she should wake him before the nightmare got worse. It was better to be woken up than be carried further into it. She reached out to gently nudge him.

“She doesn’t remember you! It’s not my fault!”

What. Was. That? 

Mirka stopped in her tracks and listened carefully, although most was babbling, some words made sense

“She’s forgotten you… I’m trying… I’m trying…. Just believe me!”

Mirka paled. What was Roger saying? Was he talking about her?

“No just….. please, please, please, don’t go, you think even *she* will be happy if you left?”

Don’t go? Who will she not be happy about leaving? 

“I didn’t mean to start falling in lov- I’m not doing it on purpose, why can’t you believe me?!”

Her blood ran cold at that. He was trying not to fall in love? *What?*

Roger had almost shouted the last bit, desperation in his voice and his face twisted in pain. Tears ran from his closed eyes and his fists had clutched tightly on the sheets. But she hardly registered any of that. She just stared at him blankly. That, was not what she had expected when she walked through the door.

She got out of bed and went back to her own. His words on replay in her head.

Who didn’t she remember? Who has she forgotten? Why was he trying not to fall in love with her? Wait. Does that mean they don’t love each other anymore in 2017? What the hell? He was trying to convince someone that he wasn’t doing something on purpose. Possibly that something is falling in love with her. But why?

Roger was Mirka’s husband. She couldn’t comprehend a reason why he would need to convince someone else that it wasn’t his fault. Why was it even a fault? He loved his wife. So what? And what does it even *mean* she won’t be happy either if whoever it was left? What was she fucking forgetting? What had changed? What was it? FOR GOD’S SAKE!!!

Mirka’s head spun. Literally. She had a drink from her bottle and turned the night lamp off. She was feeling sick and a headache had splintered its way through her.  
Mirka had had a feeling there was something Roger was not telling. She hadn't a clue what it was and he would outright deny everytime she asked. She had tried to ignore it but she had an intuitive feeling about it. She didn’t know what it was but it had kept coming back to her. It wasn’t recent either, to be honest.

She had picked up on odd things since the day she had woken up. Slowly, very slowly, the events of the last three weeks came back to her, the things she had found strange all started aligning themselves in her head.

There had been the reluctance in Roger’s demeanour during their first kiss after she woke. Like he didn't have the right or something, in a held back kind of way. He was holding back.

Then, the second kiss had been longer and he seemed comfortable till he suddenly pulled back. Like a switched flicked on in his brain. A realisation of some sort. He was holding back. 

Then, when they first had sex after the accident. There he just seemed to confuse her. He seemed held back at first, reluctant to initiate anything, even reluctant to go along with her. Then suddenly, somehow, he seemed aroused and interested. But even then there was something like agony in his gestures. 

Then, the wince, at that same time, when she ran her hands over his back; his muscles had stiffened under her touch so intensely that for a moment she was actually worried he was okay. He hadn’t held back per se but there had been something. At the time she had put it down to the emotional trauma of nearly losing her. But now she wasn’t sure.

Then, the spare room at the holiday home, as he had called it, hadn't felt like a spare room at all. A room that was not used much had a different smell to it; the wood of furniture held its newly polished smell; the sheets held a detergent-like smell; the carpet and the curtains and the air, everything in an unused room did actually signal unused, unused, unused. To the eye, it was what it was, and that's empty and barren; apart from the Cuckoo which an unnecessary touch in a practically useless room. But even then, it seemed weird.

Then there were there all the more recent things, his restlessness and snippets from conversations that had all led to many questions in her head.

Somehow, somewhere, she had felt fault lines. Like not everything was adding up. And she had tried to ask and find out. But she wasn't answered and also, how much should you rely on intuition when your brain was missing 9 whole years of your life? That wouldn't add up well either, she figured. She could sense his unease but decided to have patience instead of start jumping to conclusions.

But now.

Who could that person be? That Roger was trying to convince. If Roger was having an affair, and Mirka’s gut twisted at the thought but it was an obvious thought to entertain, why would it matter to *her* if that woman left? How would she be unhappy if she left? Why was Roger saying that?

No it didn’t add up. It was obvious Roger was feeling guilty about the last three weeks and that was only logical if he were with someone else now. But who could there possibly be, who could make Mirka make unhappy if they left too? 

Unless…

A tiny snippet of information came to her. There had been someone at the door, just behind the doctor, when she had just woken up. He was most certainly a man, who never showed up again. She had been feeling hazy at the time so couldn't quit register the face or the features. It could have been a male nurse, she really hadn't taken any notice of what he was wearing. But no, he went with Roger when Roger went outside, just before the doctor asked her some questions. If he had been a nurse, why would he leave with Roger? And had he been a nurse, why would another nurse have joined the room before Roger left. She remembered pretty clearly though, that he was leaning against the door-frame. Would a member of staff do that? She was pretty sure staff in an almost five-star hospital would not lean on the door-frame of a patient’s room. She was sure they wouldn’t do that at any hospital, to be honest. So who was he? It was a man, but who?

She tried to juggle the pieces of the puzzle, to make some sense of it all. Roger’s holding back. Roger’s guilt at falling in love, as it were, with her. His justification of loving her. Mirka not being happy about *someone* leaving. She screwed her eyes shut. 

Something added up in her head. Mirka’s eyes snapped open. Her heart lurched at the idea. Was it just possible that…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okayyy, so what do you think?
> 
> I know I'm evil to have left it on a cliff hanger! Sorry! But do let me know what you think about it!
> 
> I also wanted to thank everyone for all the comments and sticking around! It's really appreciated! :)
> 
> It may be a few days till the next update as I've got exams coming and I'd better start with some revision, although, admittedly, this is much more fun XD but I'll update as soon as I get some time!
> 
> Thanks again :D xx


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... So I did say I won't be posting for some time. But I came up with an idea and couldn't resist posting it! XD
> 
> No promises for any future updates being sooner though (unless I get another irresistible idea lol) 
> 
> Enjoy and do let me know what you think xx

Roger woke up surprisingly early. Even before his alarm went off. He rubbed his eyes and checked the time on his phone. It was 7am. Too early. He debated whether he should just go back to sleep or just go back to sleep anyway. No brainer really. But a tiny voice in his head told him to seize the opportunity of going for a jog outside. It was so early, no one will be around right now. Perfect time to jog around the lake without the camera glaring in the face for once. 

He grinned, liking the idea too much to let go, and he got himself to sit up, still half asleep. He crawled out of bed, leaving the warmth behind and headed to the bathroom. 

He had left his toothbrush in his suite, he realised. In fact, he'd not even brought a spare change of clothes. Can't go jogging in your pyjamas now can you? He groaned his annoyance. Stupid. 

Roger made his way to his suite. Clicked the door open as softly as he could and got in. He padded to his bedroom, softly opened that door too and tiptoed to the bathroom. He got his brush, then tiptoed to the wardrobe to get his joggers and a tee. 

When he had everything he needed, he turned to leave, then frowned, and turned back. 

The bed was empty. 

Mirka. 

Panic raced through him as he flicked the light on to make sure the bed really was empty. It was. He checked the rest of the suite and found it empty. He dumped his things on the couch in the living room and rushed out. 

Where could he look for her? Where could she possibly be? She wouldn't just go somewhere. 

He jogged to the kitchen. Empty. The large open plan living area. Empty. Myla and Charlene’s room. Empty. The study. The gym. The swimming pool. The main lounge. Empty. Empty. Empty. 

Jesus. 

He was about to call the security outside when he thought of checking one last place.  
Roger stumbled out of the lift and through the glass double doors. The terrace. The top floor which gave an exquisite view of Lake Zurich and the neighbourhood. 

He looked around. But he didn't need to. She was straight ahead from the glass doors. 

Her back to him. Her hands on the railing. Her face turned to the city, looking ahead at the approaching dawn just above the lake. 

Roger closed his eyes and sighed his relief. He walked towards her. As he got nearer he could see the grip she had on the railings - her knuckles white. Her shoulders tight and tense. Her breathing the only thing that was calm. 

“Mir?”

Nothing. 

“Up so early today?”

Still nothing. 

He approached her side and joined her in admiring the view. 

It was a pretty view. Breath-taking in its magnitude. It was winter so the sunrise was still a good hour away. But the deep blue of the night was already giving way for a lighter one. Just beyond the mountains a crimson as deep as blood was trickling it's way above the horizon. It reflected itself on the tips of the snow-clad peaks, rendering them with fierce hues of red and orange. Everything else though was soaked in an icey blue, the lake mirroring the sky above with utmost loyalty. The contrast was beautiful and uncanny at the same time.

“You okay?” He could see her now. Her eyes were reflecting the dawn in the sky. Her face though, was a blank slate. Seconds dragged by. He stood looking at her, waiting for a reply. 

When she spoke, it was softer than a whisper. 

“Roger, tree”

“Hm?” he leaned in slightly, to make out the words. He could barely hear her, even from this close. 

“Tree. Accident. Myla. Charlene.”

He must still be only half-awake, Roger thought to himself, because the penny was not dropping for him. 

“What about them?” he asked, confused. 

She looked at him now. In her eyes there was something different. Something he found familiar but couldn't quite name. 

“Roger, tree, accident, holiday home, the girls. Rafa” 

It hit him like a wall. Like a breath sucked out of him. Like the first clap of thunder on a serene night. Unnervingly loud. 

His heart was pounding against his ribcage so hard he was sure it was close to bursting out. He was sure he could hear it. He was sure she could hear it too. He was sure even the fish in the lake could hear it. 

He stared at her. Searching her face desperately for a reaction. Any reaction. Confusion. Hurt. Disgust. Regret. Anger. Rage. Nothing. 

Now he could recognise what he had found familiar in her eyes just a moment ago. He had found the Mirka of 2017.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again folks,
> 
> After a very long time, I know! Promise next updates will be much sooner now! 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking around and having so much patience with my delayed updates! 
> 
> Enjoy and do let me know what you think!! xx
> 
> P.S. thanks for all the good luck wishes for exams!!

Alp was upto his usual business this afternoon. Running around the cage, exercising on the his wheel and nibbling away at his snacks. Completely oblivious to the things happening in his human’s life. 

Rafa watched his hamster play peacefully in his little home, happy and content. What a life he had. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to care for. No regrets. No grieves. No attachments. Free. Even in a cage. 

And here he was, seemingly free and independent, and yet tangled in the various webs of emotions and conflicts which marred his otherwise happy nature. 

Rafa concluded Alp was infinitely happier than he was. For a start, Alp did not have knee problems. Alp also did not have divorced parents. And Alp certainly did not have a lover who had texted him this morning with just two words: ‘She remembers’. 

Alp had not felt the myriad of complex emotions that had played out in Rafa’s mind. 

Mirka remembers. The two words were spinning in his head for the past four hours now. He had done nothing about the text. He hadn't replied, nor had he called back. He didn't know what to say or ask. He was happy for Mirka of course. And he was happy for his two lovely ladies, Myla and Charlene, who were finally out of the nightmare of last few weeks. And he was happy for Roger that his efforts had paid off well. 

But the text had brought to him something he had been running away from. A niggling doubt. A little slither of possibility that had caught his mind and wouldn't let go. Like Mirka’s memory coming back would bring about something bad, like a confrontation of some sort. It was stupid to think that maybe. But he couldn't ignore the little things which made him feel that way. 

Over the weeks, he noticed that their calls and texts had developed subtle patterns of their own. Subtleties that were so fragile and intricate, Rafa many times wondered if he was imagining them. Was it just his imagination or had the topic of Mirka really become an almost taboo-topic for Roger? Was he imagining the feeling that Roger didn't like discussing Mirka? Was it his imagination that Roger changed the subject whenever they started talking about Mirka for too long? Rafa didn't know. It wasn't that Roger didn't answer Rafa if he asked anything, or that he was lying, or that he had said that he didn't want to talk about her. It was just that Rafa had picked up on the subtle changes the mention of Mirka would bring about in Roger’s tone - the faintest of traces of reluctance, hints of resistance and slight edginess that would encase the conversation thereforth. Rafa wasn't sure if Roger even noticed that he was doing this. Afterall, these were just subtle nuances that Rafa had picked up on only because he knew Roger too well to miss them. To anyone else, nothing would seem different. Rafa sighed. Maybe he was imagining the changes in Roger's tone but the fact that Roger avoided talking about Mirka with Rafa was clear as daylight. That definitely wasn't his imagination.

Why this was so, Rafa didn't know. He had thought long and hard. Almost every night the question entered his mind. Why was it so? He would toy with the question. Try to probe out answers from what little Roger had told him and what he had picked up from what he hadn't told him. He didn't like the various possibilities his mind would dwell on. He didn't like the potential answers. This was an unknown terrain. And he absolutely hated even the thought of having to actually tread this new, untested territory. God, he didn't like this one bit.

Rafa hadn't always been so bothered by unknown situations. It was his parents’ divorce that had changed him. He started dreading outcomes and revelations and confrontations. Many times he even preferred uncertainty, however daunting, over an unbearable certainty. The bombshell his father dropped on him after that 2009 Australian Open was a promised certainty of divorce. He didn't like it. Even today, looking back, he would choose just not knowing the fact that his parents were having trouble. He would rather have not known at all than having to see his future turn bleak day by every day. Of course, not knowing would not change anything. It wouldn't have changed the fact that they did indeed get divorced. But at least, it would prevent the agonising build-up of anticipation. It was the same logic here. And so, this news of Mirka recovering had instilled a fear in him. An odd fear. Like there was a revelation, an outcome, lurking just round the corner, waiting to pounce on him. It felt like a certainty. And again, he would rather not know at all.

But, unfortunately, not wanting to know didn't stop his mind from speculating and wandering and prodding further.

Their last kiss, in their holiday home, when Roger had very suddenly pulled away, was a sharp reminder of how fragile the human mind was. The boundary that separated an outsider from a lover was much easier to maintain than that which separated an ex-lover from a lover. It was easy to step over it. It was easy, even if you didn't want it. And it was only natural. Rafa knew that. He knew it but the very thought made his gut twist in pain and agony and jealousy. He wondered how he would handle a situation where Roger fell in love with Mi- or worse, left him. Oh my God. No. What was he thinking? Why would Roger leave him? Why would he? He was with Rafa for the past eight years! He couldn't and he wouldn't. He was Rafa’s. Roger belonged to Rafa

Rafa knew he was getting carried away. Far too carried away. It was entirely possible all this was purely his imagination running wild. Maybe he was reading too much into the situation. Maybe Roger didn't like talking about Mirka because it was just an awkward situation to talk about. Maybe he found it difficult to open up to Rafa about it. That was totally understandable too. It didn't have mean deeper things and underlying implications. 

And anyway, him and Roger were past the point of breaking up now. They couldn't live without the other. It wasn't possible now. It could never happen, no matter what. 

But... Weren't his parents supposed to be beyond the point of breaking up too? *They* divorced. 

God, no.

No, Rafa didn't want to know. He didn't want to know the one thing that was eating away at him bit by bit. He didn't want to know if Roger was beginning to feel something, anything, for Mirka. He didn't want to know and he didn't want to ask. Because he feared the answer. Much more than his own speculations. Because what if a blunt question like that led to worsening of the situation? What if it led to planting a seed in Roger’s head that wasn't really there right now? Wouldn't that be worse? And what if Roger took offence at being doubted at? What if he thought Rafa was accusing him of cheating? What if it turned into a big fight that would leave a permanent scar on their relationship?

But those weren't the outcomes he feared most. Most of all, what if it was all true? What if Roger really had started to feel more than platonic love for Mirka over the last few weeks? What if he said yes? What if he said he has started to love Mirka? That he wanted to end their relationship to be with her? What if he said that? What if everything just shattered into a thousand pieces and ended altogether?

Rafa gasped so loudly at the thought that he drew Alp’s attention from the other side of the room. He waved a hand at him, signalling a ‘nothing’, and then smiled a sad smile when Alp continued to stare at him. Of course, hamsters didn't understand human gestures. They didn't understand any of the problems a human could possibly face. They were much, much happier creatures because they simply did not know. Not knowing is good. It's better than knowing.

But... What if?


	16. Chapter 16

The next two hours, till the house eventually stirred from its slumber, were the most horrifyingly silent hours of his entire life. She had not uttered another word. And he didn’t know what to say. So neither said anything.  
Roger sat across the room from her. She was sitting on the couch on by the window on the other side, reading her newspaper and drinking her third cup of strong coffee in two hours. He was staring at her. He had been for the past two hours. 

Two hours ago on the terrace, when he had finally realised what it is that she was saying, he had found himself rather numb. So many questions had sprung to his mind in that one moment. How did she remember? Did she see something? Hear someone say something? Did she find something that prompted her? Did it just flow back? He hadn't asked any of it. He had just stared at her after she had spoken the last words till she broke the gaze and looked away again. He was still trying to figure out her reaction when she had turned and walked away. He had followed her then. Because, quite frankly, he didn't know what else to do. He followed her down the lift and into his suite, where she headed to the shower. Then after she was done, he showered too. By the time he had come out, she had left. 

When he got to the kitchen-living area, he had found her having breakfast at the table. So he had joined her and had his breakfast to. As he did, he typed what he thought was the most heavy text he would ever send anyone. It was only two words long. He wanted to say something more. Something reassuring perhaps. But he couldn't think of anything other than the bare facts right now. So that's what he sent to Rafa: ‘She remembers’.

Now, a couple of hours later, Roger checked his phone again. Nothing. Rafa had still not replied. He hadn’t even acknowledged the text, nor had he called back. Roger put his phone away again and glanced up to find Mirka still reading the newspaper. She was always the traditional type with newspapers. He never understood why she couldn't just use her phone to browse the net and find out what's happening. Who needed papers nowadays? Then again, he didn't understand many things about her. From here, he couldn't tell if she was actually reading the paper in front of her or just making a show out of it to avoid conversation. He wasn't sure if she could feel his eyes on her because even if she did, she was doing an impressive job of not showing it. 

The silence had descended like a thick fog around them and Roger was beginning to feel suffocated. So when Myla and Charlene skipped down the stairs, it was a relief like no other. 

“Mummy! Good morning!” they collided into her like the bundles of energy they were. 

Roger almost winced at the force with which they hugged her, restraining himself from warning them to be careful around her. 

“Good morning beautifuls!” Mirka spoke for the first time in two hours. She sounded like she always did around the girls: happy. She kissed them both before going back to sipping her coffee. 

“Daddy! Good morning!” Roger couldn't help smiling because you'd really have to be dead to not smile back at the two most beautiful smiles in the world. 

“Good morning babies” 

Myla sighed at the use of ‘babies’ again. 

Mirka took another sip and spoke again. “Mylie and Charlie, I need your help for sorting out some stuff after breakfast. Want to help?” 

“Yes Mummy” Myla replied on their behalf but they both frowned at being told a chore first thing in the morning. 

Mirka smiled, ignoring the frowns, “Thank you! Knew you wouldn't say no!” 

They frowned some more before joining Nina at the table for breakfast. After the girls had eaten, Mirka got up, finishing the last of her coffee, and led them both to their, as in Roger’s, suite. 

Again, Roger didn't know what else to do so he got up and followed them. He could suddenly see the change in Mirka. In the confident stride and the firm voice. From the unsure Mirka of just a few hours ago to the Mirka who knew what was going on. 

“Okay,” Mirka said when they got to the suite, “so we need to do some tidying up. Daddy's got a tournament coming up soon so he'll need the suite for all his tennis stuff, like before. So we need to just move my stuff to my suite next door again. Okay?” 

“Yeah” the girls were used to them having separate suites. They thought that’s just how everyone who had enough space lived – in different suites and separate rooms. Also, his tennis gear made it easy to explain that he needed the suite to himself. Roger was thankful for the lack of questions from them this time around. 

“Cool.” She busied herself sorting through the clothes and accessories. She couldn't bring herself to take down the photos on the walls though. So she left them, leaving him to do if he wanted. Anyway, he always had the girls’ photos on here. Roger walked in to the bedroom and watched as his girls helped Mirka pack. An uneasy feeling made its way in his chest somewhere and he tried hard to shake it off. 

He stood at the door, watching as his room got stripped off all the colours Mirka’s things had brought in. Her jewellery, her clothes, her dresses, her gowns, her perfumes and nail varnishes and rings and shoes. All the things being taken out at once made the room even more colourful. But it wasn’t to last. As everything started being packed into big boxes, ready to be taken away, lackluster returned to his suite. 

The rest of the day went moving back and forth from his suite to hers. Everyone had joined in with the packing and moving. There were mixed emotions, he could tell. Like they weren't sure what to expect anymore. Hell he wasn't sure either. By night, Mirka had made sure his suite was fully rid of her things. 

He saw her as he walked in after dinner. She was on her toes, reaching up to the highest shelf of the wardrobe to take the last of her bags down. Roger inched forward to help on instinct, but she sensed him. 

“No no almost there. Just last stuff…” 

He stopped in his tracks, slightly hurt by such a cold dismissal. 

She got the bags and turned to face him. She gave him a tight smile before walking past and out of the room. And then she was gone. And he was alone. The uneasy feeling in his chest only tightened. He tried to name it but couldn’t. it made him feel ratty. He let himself fall into bed, rubbing his eyes. 

Mirka had so much as talked him today. She wasn’t avoiding him as such. Neither was she acting awkward and clumsy, like he was aware he himself was. She just seemed comfortable to forget the little fact that he was there at all. 

And Roger didn't know how to feel about it. Whether to like it or hate it. 

The room felt empty around him without Mirka. She had been here for almost a month now. Roger didn't have memories of her in this room before, because when they built this house, Rafa and him were already together. There was Mirka’s suite for a reason afterall. They stayed pretty much next door, like neighbours. But never together, like couples. 

He had gotten used to talking to her, hearing her voice and hearing his own voice too over the last month. And now the sheer quiet in the room was palpable. He could hear the silence. It's soft hum in the background. It drove him crazy. Roger was aware that Rafa still hadn’t texted back. It had been what, sixteen or seventeen hours now? No reply. Nothing. For a while, he thought the text may not have gotten to Rafa. But it showed delivered. It was definitely through. Initially, he thought may be Rafa hadn’t read it yet. But Rafa not checking his phone for sixteen hours seemed a far-fetched idea. Roger didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe Rafa was just not sure what to say, which was entirely possible. And who could blame him? It had been a very weird last few weeks. Roger knew he could call him right now, or send another text. But really he was at a loss of words too. The day’s events had overwhelmed him. He was too tired to think, to speak, to form words. So he just lay there, in the cold bed, trying to process everything. 

\---

Roger tossed and turned, sat up and lied back down, he got up and walked around, he watched TV and read his Kindle, he had a drink of water and some snacks. He did everything he could think to tire himself out so he'd fall asleep. No sleep came. It was 3 in the morning now and yet no sleep came. He had gone through stats and tactics and improvements and everything and made notes and annotations to review with Seve and Ivan the next day. Even that tiring task didn’t lull him to sleep.

He finally resorted to a glass of scotch. He had tried to stay away from drinks as much as he could since Mirka’s accident. He didn't want the risk of letting his guard down, of letting something slip. Now though, it didn't matter anymore. 

Before he knew it, Roger had downed three glasses and then just drank straight from the bottle. Some release at least, he thought, even if only momentary. By four in the morning, he had passed out on the floor, where he had been sitting. It was a miracle he hadn’t thrown up.

\---

Morning came with bad backache and even worse headache. Roger grimaced at the pain as he stirred on the floor. He had been only vaguely aware of the alarm in the background. He opened his eyes, and shut them straight back as his head pounded at the light. He winced, dragging himself off the floor and fiddled with the phone till it switched off the bloody alarm. He made his way to shower and turned the heat up to max. The water scorched him and slowly Roger woke up. The headache was nowhere near gone when he headed for breakfast but at least he could think through it, somewhat. His mother stared at him when he saw her. He was in a state, he knew. He tried an assuring smile and a good morning but it fell flat on her and she walked away shaking her head. He was thankful though that she didn’t say anything and gave him some space. 

Roger sat down at the table for breakfast. Toast and jam, like everyday. He was glad everyone else had already finished. He could eat without being bombarded by stares and glares from his family or team. He was just thanking his luck, when Mirka walked in. Seems she was late today too.

Their eyes met briefly and something akin to shock flickered across her face. It was gone before he could pin it down properly. And then her expression was that of blankness again. Still. Calm. Cold. She gave him a nod as she passed him to make herself some toast. In that one moment, Roger’s heart skipped a beat. Memories. Those eyes in the golden glow of the lamp light, those lips, those freckles. He took a deep breath in and willed himself to stop. This was not a good idea. He had to get over it. He had to forget it all. How do you get rid of memories?

He didn't even notice her come back to the table and sit on the other side of it. He noticed now the puffy eyes, the red rims and the worn down face.

“You feeling alright?” 

“Hm?” she looked up from her plate 

“You look tired” 

“Oh yeah yeah just...” she trailed off. Nothing wavered in her voice. Nothing in the way she sat hinted tiredness. Mirka sat straight and proud. Like she always did when she was being watched. Her posture never gave her away. At least when there were outsiders anyway. Roger wondered if that’s what he was now - an outsider. Someone who shouldn’t be let in on how she was really feeling. That wasn’t how Mirka before the accident would treat him. He wondered how much he had actually lost in these last three weeks. Had he lost Mirka’s friendship too? Had he damaged things beyond repair? Was this how it always going to be? Awkward and aloof? 

Roger just nodded, although it was obvious Mirka hadn't slept well either. “You have an appointment with the docs, at 1. I'll come with you” He had made sure to book one yesterday. He wanted to make sure everything was well now that her memory had come back. 

“Yep I remember,” she said, then after a pause, “you don't have training?” 

“I finish by 12” 

“Ah. Ok” 

“Mummy, can we go out today?” Myla stormed in the room, followed by Charlene 

“No, Mummy can't take us out silly! She doesn't remember the roads!” 

Mirka looked at them, confused. Had they honestly not figured out yet that her memory had come back? Then she remembered, no one really told them specifically and they were too young to pick up things like these from the adults’ conversations unless they were really listening. 

“Aww my poor babies! Did I forget to tell you sweethearts? I can remember everything now. The brains got better” she said tapping her head, and pulling them both in for a hug. 

“Really?” they both chimed in, 

“So you can remember everything now?” Myla quipped 

“Uh-huh” 

“Even all the times we were naughty?” Charlene looked concerned. 

Mirka laughed and Roger smiled at the look her face. How good it was to be a kid and be worried about things like that, instead of all the things that were happening in the adult world. 

“Everything,” Mirka said softly as she kissed her head. Roger caught her eye, then looked away. 

“So can we go out today?” 

“Maybe in the evening? How about that? I've a doc’s appointment in the afternoon” 

“Are you going on your own?” there was hesitation in Charlene’s question, a slight fear even. They both knew the girls had grown very protective of her recently, especially if she was alone anywhere. 

“No Charlie, Daddy's coming too” 

Charlene smiled, satisfied with the answer. 

And they both wandered off again, already in a different world. Mirka gave them an odd look before frowning. 

“How did they take it? I know you told me this before, about the conversation but at the time you probably let on only what was needed” 

“Yeah... They were already asking questions about you, they were getting cranky and annoyed. Imagine that, no contact with you for so long? It's never happened before, ever. When I was talking to them they just went so quiet, you know. They picked up on my mood though I was not showing them I was worried and stuff. They were terrified, when I told that you had an accident. It wasn't easy for them.” 

“And for you, the conversation I mean?” 

“I won't lie, it was the toughest conversation of my life. I mean, what do you say to eight year olds? Your mum can't remember you? God, it was horrible. I just zoned out before I talked to them, I actually detached myself from them, like in a match, with an opponent. Like they didn't matter, emotionally speaking. What mattered was getting the job done to perfection, without getting emotional myself. That was the toughest thing ever. I'll never do it again, something like that. I hated it.” 

Mirka nodded slowly, then whispered almost to herself, “I really liked the technology and phone analogy” 

“That was actually Rafa’s idea” he faltered a bit after Rafa, not sure of where this would go now, after the mention of Rafa.

“Ah, right. Well it was pretty good wasn't it?” And sure enough, the little semblance of a conversation that had come about, disappeared once again. Her tone, which had been only slightly warmed by the girls, was restored to its prior state. She wasn’t bitter. Nowhere near. She was just completely emotionless in the way she spoke. Which was worse in many ways, Roger thought. It didn’t let him know what she thinking. It restricted her to a bubble of her own. Cut off totally from him. It was getting to him now, her rash indifference. 

“Yeah...” he muttered.

“Okay, anyway, I'll um, see you at 12.30? To go to the docs?” 

“Yep.” 

And then she was gone again. 

\---

“Yeah, it basically just came back to her, I suppose. I didn’t really ask how. She’s… she hasn’t been particularly talkative about it all.”

“Si, si, must be hard for her too no. So much change suddenly. She need time”

“Yeah…”

“Rogi, how you feeling?”

“I don't know, I suppose.”

“You not know?”

“Everything’s going too fast. I’m struggling Rafa. I’m finding it hard. But it’s okay. Everything will be fine. As days pass, everything’s going to be fine again.” He wasn’t sure whether he was trying to reassure Rafa or convince himself. 

“Si” Rafa sighed over the phone.

“You thinking of something?”

“No. Nothing. Why?”

“Are you okay Raf?”

“Si si, I good.”

“Everything *will* be fine Rafa. It *has* to be. All of us will be fine, the whole situation. I’m not going to lie to you say and say I’m 100% fine because I’m not. It will take time for me forget these past weeks. I wish I could just wipe them off. But it will be fine. And I will be fine. I have to be fine.”

“Hm”

Everything will be fine, Roger told himself. Now even Mirka had moved out and he wasn't living her anymore. He was sure his conflicting feelings, which he still wasn't sure what to call, would just fizzle out. All would go back to normal. It had to happen that way. And it would. He was sure of it. 

Or he was really, really optimistic anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Already working on the next ones. :)
> 
> Do let me know what you think! xx


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is like a mixed pov - so I shift back and forth a bit. Hopefully, it's not confusing! xx

They were having a quiet dinner after the girls had gone to bed early. Just the two of them. It was funny how the dining table had suddenly become the only place they met nowadays. Roger couldn’t even remember how many days it had been now. Four, five, six? He couldn’t recall. He had a feeling his team and family were deliberately avoiding the dining table. How can it be, otherwise, that everyone ends up having dinner in their own suites? Were him and Mirka so awkward around each other that it was insufferable to be their vicinity? He didn’t know. Or maybe it was just their way of giving them some time together so they could sort out whatever was wrong with them. Only, there wasn’t anything wrong to be sorted out. There was just nothing right. How much can you sort out when nothing at all is right in the first place? It had been days now and they were not making any progress. Mirka was only making minimal conversation where it was absolutely necessary and Rafa… well, that was another story altogether. Roger didn’t even know what was wrong with the Spaniard to be acting so strange with him; like he was tiptoeing around something, like he was scared of something Roger might say. Roger had asked him many times but he wouldn't give a straight answer. Why was this happening? He was trying, wasn’t he, to forget all this? To get over it. To move on. He was trying his best. Then, why were they both acting like this around him? All he wanted from anyone was some sense of normalcy, to help him come out of this mess. All he wanted from Mirka was some normal conversation. All he wanted from Rafa was normal communication. Was that too much to ask for? Both of them were probably right in their own ways, he reckoned. But here he was, stuck in the middle of it all, getting churned. Life couldn’t be worse right now, Roger thought. 

“Seve was saying you were exhausted all practice today.” She looked at her plate as she ate but he sensed she was expecting an answer 

“Oh really? I thought it went well.” 

She looked up now and sighed. “That wasn't his impression.” 

“Well I beg to differ.” Yes he was being sarcastic and harsh. He just couldn’t bear it any longer.

She shrugged. “He gave me these notes, for you to read. His analysis of your game he said” she handed over a folder across the table. Their fingertips brushed as he took it from her and his skin tingled where it had just touched hers. In fact, his whole body tingled a bit. A fuzzy feeling washed over him. Or maybe it was the wine. It was probably the wine.

She withdrew her hand almost immediately after the folder touched his hand, looking mildly uncomfortable suddenly. 

“Right, thanks. I actually did think the practice went well though” he relented. What had she done to deserve his sarcasm? Nothing really.

“Ok if you say so. He thought you were lacking concentration and stamina.” 

He studied her expression as she turned her attention back to food. Her face was neutral, no trace of accusation or taunting, just genuine concern. She licked some sauce from her fingers, unaware of his gaze. Memories came crashing back to him. The tease that laced her voice. The brush of her fingers against his skin. The whisper of her voice. His vision suddenly blurred and a slight tremor seized his hands. 

“Right,” his voice croaked, he cleared his throat and tried again, “Okay I mean, that's fine. I'll see them, thanks” 

“I'm done. You want some more?” 

“No I'm done too, thanks” 

“Ok, pass me the plate, I'll put it in the washer” 

“No it's okay I'll do-” 

She sighed, annoyed, so he gave up and just passed her his plate. Their fingers brushed again under it, and he almost dropped the plate. She caught it an expert catch and turned to the sink, not looking at him once. Her shoulders were tense, he could see. He knew the feeling, all your muscles clogging up with stress and anxiety. She hadn't looked great either since... Well, since moving out again. He felt bad for her. She must be going through a lot too, although she made a damn good point of never showing it.

He walked up to her and gently put his palms on her shoulders 

“What are you...” she protested 

“Shh, let me. it'll feel better” He pressed his palms firmer, creating pressure and then used the heel of palm to press down on the more tense areas, circling slowly but firmly. He could feel her begin to relax under him and she out let out a breath she didn't know was holding. It was comforting, a pressure build-up she hadn't realised she was carrying was slowly leaving her, the blood flowing more freely to the knots in the muscles now. She hadn't spent the last few nights happily herself; memories, dreams and nightmares made them very eventful. She closed her eyes and let herself concentrate on his palms. Their pressure and precision and warmth stimulating her own warmth. Even over the cloths she could feel his warmth behind her. She was suddenly aware of how close they were standing. She could hear his breathing, it was slightly faster, just a touch. 

She wondered how they would look if someone saw them right now, in the darkening room. Where the shadows clung desperately to anything they could find and make their own. Where the boundary of day and certainty and control drowned into darkness and uncertainty and tenderness. 

He realised the heel of his palm was massaging the exact same spot for some time now so shifted his hands a bit, accidentally brushing his fingers against her hair and earlobe ever so slightly. 

A fire lanced down her spine and she drew in a sharp breath, turning to face him. 

He wasn't looking at her, the floor apparently more interesting. His hands had dropped to his side. 

“Didn't mean that, sorry” he whispered, genuinity in his voice. His face was shadowed, making it even softer. And wherever the light fell, it amplified the natural golden smoothness of his skin. Long lashes cast long shadows down his flushed cheeks. His lips were slightly parted and pink as they hugged the shadows around them. Mirka never stopped marveling at just how beautiful this man was, never through the years did she stop marveling at the beauty he possessed. She had mastered how to not let it affect her but mere observation was beyond her control. And now like this, looking almost guiltily at the floor, he somehow looked even more beautiful. Almost vulnerable, like he could shatter if he wasn't taken and kept away from the cruel world. If they were both being honest, Mirka had always done that anyway. She’d kept him away from many things the world had thrown at him, she almost guarded him, like a fierce lioness guarding her territory. Keeping away unwanted outsiders. She never confined him though, ever. That was the difference. 

He looked up at her and, in that one second, her heart broke a thousand times. If she stayed here any longer she knew she would do something stupid. Maybe she would kiss him. She would, she knew it. And that couldn’t happen. He wasn't hers. He wasn't. He did what he did for the last few weeks because he cared. It was almost altruistic. It wasn't love. He had let her believe it was because, well, any other implication would defy the entire point of the effort. It was a charade. And come to think of it, he never actually said “I love you” to her. Never. It was always words twisted around and gestures used to communicate instead but never the words themselves. He loves Rafa. Has done for so long. She was a friend now. A best friend, perhaps. But that's it. Nothing more to read into it. 

And yet, despite her best efforts, the moments flooded back to her. Roger’s hands on her. His breath in her ear. His scent in the air she breathed. His lips on hers. His eyes burrowing through her very soul. Roger all around her. Roger.

Mirka closed her eyes and took a deep breath, composing herself. Her very being screamed for him, to fall into his arms and lose herself but she didn't. Couldn't. Not hers. She stepped to the side so she wasn't directly in front of him. 

“Thanks, for the massage I mean. You, um- should maybe, sleep now. I-” she sighed again, she was blabbering now. Stop. “I'll see you tomorrow?” 

He smiled, a little sadly, she thought, but couldn't really tell with the darkness that enveloped him. 

“Yep. See you tomorrow.” 

She nodded once, unsure. Then she turned and left the room and as soon as she was out of the room, she broke into a run. She kept running till she reached her suit and locked the door like her life depended on it. Because otherwise she would go back. She would go back and she would... She would what? What exactly *would* happen, she asked herself? 

And the answer came in a resounding echo, clear and solid: 

“You would fall in love, Mirka. Again.”


	18. Chapter 18

Roger climbed on top of Rafa and sat between his legs. He parted them. Feeling the muscles of his thighs, hard and thick, like his own. He felt his pulse, fast and unsteady, like his own. He felt tiny splattering of hair, black and curly, like his own. “Rafa”, he moaned, mapping his body like it was his own. Memorising it. Hard and toned and masculine. Like his own. 

“Roger?” Mirka questioned. 

Roger head snapped up. He found he was sitting between her legs. But he was sure that felt Rafa under him. There was no way he would misread the familiar, oft-touched and memorised curves of Rafa’s body under his palms. 

He felt Rafa. He could quite clearly see Mirka. 

She looked at him through hooded eyes, confused at his stricken expression. She knotted her eyebrows in question. 

“Mirka?” he was certain he was with Rafa a moment ago. 

“Yes Rogi?” Rafa’s voice, but he saw Mirka answer. 

Roger jumped back, out of bed and almost tumbled to the floor. He backed away from the bed, hitting the wall on the other side of the room. What was happening to him? He took his head in his hands and tried to find some semblance of sense. It must be an illusion, some daydream or misunderstanding. 

How can different senses give different information? His touch said Rafa. His eyes said Mirka. His ears said Rafa again. His smell definitely said Mirka. That tantalising perfume she wore many times. 

Mirka sat up, Mirka, Rafa whatever she was, he was... Whatever *it* was. And looked at him like he was going mad 

“What's happening? Are you feeling okay Rogi? You look pale.” The lips smiled, it wasn't a friendly smile. It was sarcastic. It got up. 

“Stay the hell away! I swear to God! Stay away from me! Who the hell are you? What the fuck is happening?!” 

“You wanted this Rogi.” the smile turned crooked. The eyes, Mirka’s eyes, were filled with sorrow but her lips betrayed slyness. 

“What are you on about? Who are you? Where is Rafa? In fact, that’s not Mirka either!” 

“It's us. Rog can't you recognise us? You wanted both, you got both no. Happy now, eh Rogi?” 

“Stop it! Stop bloody talking in Rafa’s voice! Stop Mirka!!!” 

“There isn't two Rafa and Mirka. It's me. Your new lover.” 

“I swear I'll hit you so hard if come near me, stay away. I want out of here” 

“Can't keeping running Rog. For how long? How much will you run? We'll find you. You'll only hide somewhere under the sky no, Rogi!?” 

And the thing, because that is what it was, laughed. Roger thought it was the most disturbing laugh he had ever heard, with Mirka’s face and Rafa’s voice. Her body, his gestures. It was gross. Petrifying. It was sickening. Roger felt sick, he was going to throw up. 

And it came nearer to him, he went for the door but it was locked. He tried struggling with the knob but it didn't budge. There wasn't even a window here. And it was following him, laughing that hideous laugh. And it got near still. It cornered him. 

“No stay away! Please just leave me alone! Stay away from me please!!” 

And it didn't stop. And Mirka’s hand grabbed his waist with a force that was Rafa’s. Roger flinched and tried twisting away but he couldn't budge. He was trapped. And the thing, it leaned in for a kiss despite his violent protests which didn't seem to have any effect on it. 

He used his hands to push it away. To put some distance between them. But it grabbed his hands and pulled him in closer.

Their lips met, Mirka’s lips with Rafa’s taste. 

And Roger screamed. 

Awake. At last. 

Thick beads of sweat covered his face. He was sitting up. Staring into darkness. Panting. Gaping. His was fisting the sheets so hard, his knuckles were white. Hair clung to him. He watched the dream replay itself in his head. He shivered and shook his head frantically. 

He pushed the sheets away and went to bathroom. He splashed his face with ice cold water and leaned his hands against the basin. He looked up at the mirror. He saw empty eyes stare back. White face and pale lips. No hint of colour. He looked away quickly. He didn't want to look at the mirror. Reflections and mirrors, he had always found them to be slightly eerie. Today, he just flipping had an entire dream about illusions and delusions. If his mind was in the mood to play tricks with him, least he could do is minimise the opportunities he gave it. He left the bathroom. He didn't look at the mirror again. 

Roger felt scared. The quiet of the room deafeningly loud in the background. The walls surrounded him and his own room towered over him. Static pictures of Mirka and himself smiled back at him from the walls. Teasing him in his loneliness. Every creak and crack sent a shiver down his spine. Every noise of the outside world made his hair stand on end. 

Roger felt haunted.

\---

He grabbed his car keys and ran out. He couldn’t stay in that room. He had to get out. The security persons stared as he raved the car off. He went where the road took him in the darkness of the night. Not caring anymore. He drove for what felt like hours, till he left the city and suburbs and finally was surrounded by emptiness all around. He stopped the car in the middle of nowhere and got out. The cold hit him like a wall, unrelenting in its onslaught. His hands chilled instantly in the below freezing temperatures of the night, making him shiver. He didn’t care.

There were no lights here. Above him the clear sky offered a spectacular view of the Milky Way. It shone its beauty on the serene landscape. Everything was calm. Everything was quiet. Everything was happy. The entire universe was laughing at his misery today. 

“Yeah, I LOVE her!!! Get it? I love Mirka!” Roger screamed at the glistening stars. 

“And I love Rafa! I love them BOTH!!!” He yelled at the mountains around him

“There. Happy now? Happy?” His throat was already hurting from screaming.

“And now what? Have them both? Like a needy, selfish bastard? Yeah?”

He fell to ground, the grass like ice shards through his pyjamas. He was still in his pyjamas he realised. He laughed a bitter laugh.

“Going mad” he muttered to himself.

“The GREAT Roger Federer is SO GREAT that one lover is not enough for him! He needs two people! SO PROUD!!!”

“I should go and tell the whole world that I fuck one person during tournaments and another between them.” Roger flinched at the sheer audacity of his own words. It disgusted him, such a crude description. Because in his head, it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t vulgar. The love he felt for Rafa was different from the one he felt for Mirka. Both were unique in their own ways. To think of leaving either was to tear himself apart. But right now, the sheer guilt of wanting more than he should was unparalleled. 

“And when Myla and Charlene grow up, they’ll be so fucking proud to know that their dad has two partners!!” his voice cracked and he ducked his head. Anger mixing with the tears. He wiped at his face rashly and pushed himself off the ground.

“Just kill me now!” Roger screeched one last time at the night before heading back to his car and slamming the door shut. He let his head fall on the steering wheel. It banged with a thud and it hurt but he didn’t care.

“I love him and now I’ve fallen in love with her too” he whispered to himself, sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that's it for now. More coming soon!
> 
> Thank you for all you lovely comments, I know I haven't been able to reply much recently but I do read them and they're so encouraging! 
> 
> Do let me know what you think about the two chapters!! 
> 
> xx


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leave it to shatter,  
> In a thousand tiny parts.  
> Let it burn and tatter,  
> It's just one of many hearts.  
> Little does it matter;  
> It was never in our stars.

Next morning Ivan proposed they analyse their observation of his game and, of course, they had insisted Mirka be around too. 

So they sat at his office, a small room with two chairs and a small couch. Seve and Ivan took the chairs, leaving Roger and her to take the couch. She was aware that they were both basically hugging the armrests on either side the whole time, putting as much space between them as the little couch allowed. And there was nothing subtle about it. Ivan and Seve put in a lot of effort into acting oblivious. They did a good job of it, she had to admit.

“Rog, look, I know you've had some tough time recently, I know that. We all do. But you need to recover. Your levels in practice pre-, last two weeks were not your best but they were alright. This week, they've dropped. Significantly. We hardly get through a few games without difficulties, Rog.” 

“I know. I don't know” 

“To me it's not fitness because that doesn't just disappear, you know. But concentration, that can change within hours even. I don't know what to advice you Roger, you have enough experience yourself.” 

“Yeah. No, I understand. Last few days have been,” he hesitated slightly, aware of Mirka listening to him, “different, let's say. Give me some time. I'm trying.” 

“Rog, we know. Take your time. Just try to stay focused on the court in that moment. That's all we're asking. We know, I know, I've seen you do it before. Even with an unsettled mind, you have played your best. It's just that little bit extra. The grit that you always seem to have is missing.”

“Yeah, I agree. I'll try. I will. Just call me out when I look distracted, or whatever it is, then I know when to reign myself in. I don't even realise it sometimes, that's all.” 

“Right okay, yeah we can do that. No problem.” 

“Thanks guys, really. I appreciate your patience.” 

They clasped their hands and patted their backs as they ended the meeting. Mirka hadn't said much, but then again, what could she say about his mind-set when it was all down to their relationship in the first place. She had given a lot for Roger’s career. To stand and watch it tremble, and know that somewhere it’s because of her, was something she just could not do. This had to stop. All of this mess had to end. It was too much. Way too much. And this time, she didn’t have the strength anymore to go through it. 

They walked back from Staff quarters to their quarter, falling in step. 

“You should focus Roger” 

“I know, I am trying” 

“No, I mean you should forget about all this. About me. Re-focus your life.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Maybe we should, I don't know, but maybe we should…” Mirka huffed, “actually, never mind, we’ll talk later” 

“No tell me. Maybe we should what?” 

“It's just an idea. And just because it's there, doesn't mean we have to do it. And even if we *do* do it, doesn't mean it has be like tomorrow. Or even next month but I mean...” 

He waited, forcing her to continue. She knew he was looking at her, she felt uneasy under his scrutinizing gaze. She also knew she wasn’t making much sense and she had to clarify further.

“We can't live like this Roger. You can’t and I can’t either. I can't go through this turmoil of emotions again. I've already been through this once - I've already stepped away, I've already drawn the line between friendship and relationship, I've been here once. This feels like a Deja-vu and I'm just not strong enough now to repeat it. To still stay anyway. It hurts. This time, it hurts even more to stay, to carry on, like nothing’s happened. Like nothing’s happening. We should just end this once and for all.” 

“You... You want to g-go?” 

She lets out a shuddering breath. She does not look at him, looking at floor as they walked. 

“You are… leaving me?” 

“Rog.” 

“No that is it, isn't it? You want divorce. To break this,” he waves a hand in the space between, “officially. You want...” he trails off his, just before his voice could crack. Suddenly he is seething in rage. It was irrational, he knew that. He had no right whatsoever to expect her to stay. Who was he to stop her? Or expect anything for that matter? Whatever she had done, was a favour already. She was never obliged in the first place. He had taken her for granted. And his reaction was unjustified. Bu right now he couldn’t help it. He did feel angry. Angry and hurt and pure and simple heartbroken. He ached.

“Roger... It's not like I want it-” They'd stopped walking now and were facing each other. 

“But you do, Mirka!” he laughs bitterly, “Of course you do. Why would you want to stay? I left you, I betrayed you, all those years ago. You should've gone long back actually. I don't know why you ever stayed. It's not like I deserve you. The amount of time you wasted on me, if you'd spent on someone else, you would’ve created another Roger Federer!” 

She slapped him. Not hard, nothing that would leave any mark, or even sting, but a slap nonetheless. “There will *never* be another Roger Federer!” she spoke through gritted teeth. Tears springing to her eyes and threatening to spill over any moment. Rage and agony visible in her eyes too now. 

He looked at her in shock, then in anger and finally in apology. He knew he had crossed the line. Mirka took his career very seriously. All his achievements were very dear to her. She had invested her heart and soul into him. He was her pride. And you don't attack the pride of a woman. Any woman. Especially Mirka. Because she will slap you. Even if you *are* her pride. 

She held his gaze without a blink for a whole ten seconds, red flaring in her eyes. Then she spun on the ball of heels and left. Tears rolling down her cheeks as she faced away from him. 

She was fully aware of what had just happened as she walked away. This was it. Eighteen years of companionship. Nine years of marriage. 8 years of parenthood. Over. Done. Ended.

She got to her suite and looked into the mirror. The wedding ring was still shining on her finger, bright as ever. She slipped it off and brought it to her lips. She kissed it once and put it down on the dresser. 

A sentence from the past came back to her. A sentenced that had promised a lifetime of love. A sentence she had actually believed in. A sentence that would never be realised. She smiled a sad smile through the tears and whispered to herself. 

“Till death do us part.”


	20. Chapter 20

The screen lit up and the image of Roger flickered to life. He realised the last time he saw the beautiful face of his lover was about a month ago. He had looked forward to meeting Roger after Mirka’s memory came back. Now, he didn’t know. Would they meet again as lovers? The fear gripped him but he pushed it down for now. 

Roger was looking in a state. Rafa frowned. He didn’t know a month could change you so much.

“You okay Rogi?”

“Rafa I need to tell you something.”

Rafa’s heart raced. Was he about to hear his worst nightmares come true? Was Roger about to end it? Was he about to tell him that he loved Mirka more?

“We’re getting divorced.” 

Rafa snapped out of his thoughts. “What?”

“Mirka and me. We’re ending it, officially.”

Rafa stared at the screen. His lover’s drawn out face. The words. He was not expecting that. At all. That particular word. Divorce. Exactly what his parents did to him. Exactly what tore him apart. Exactly what broke him down. 

He hated the word. He hated everything that went with it. He hated the fact that no matter what anyone said, it ripped a whole which can never be filled. 

His mind went back to the petty arguments over money and property and estates. Arguments over the will. Arguments over the children. Arguments over the house. Where two people had weaved a world together, and then years after it had become what they called a family, they decided to cut it with a saw. To unweave every thread and every shred they had worked so hard to bind. And in the process, unwillingly as it may be, they ended up breaking themselves and their family too. 

To part. To completely untangle a life from the other. Easily said. Never fully done. 

He loathed it to point of agony. 

This was going to happen to Roger. To Mirka. To Myla and Charlene. This would happen. A family, perhaps flawed, perhaps not perfect but still a family in its own right, would be separated with surgical precision as every penny is counted off, every item is handed away and the girls are given to either primarily Mummy or Daddy, instead of Mummy and Daddy. The scars that would come about, who could know them better Rafa himself?

His own emotions flooded back to him. What would he have given to prevent the divorce of his parents? He would have give anything. Would Myla and Charlene say the same in ten years’ time? Would they regret it the same as he does to this very day? He felt sick at the thought. He could feel the bile rise up. He almost choked on his own saliva. 

He saw Roger who had ducked his head. Rafa had to ask the question he wanted the answer to. How would Roger feel if this divorce happened? How deep did his feelings run? It had to be asked. 

“Rogi look at me.”

Roger shook his head.

“Be honest and tell me. You… You love her, no?”

Roger looked up, into the camera. This was it, what Rafa had thought all along. This was the moment that answered all the questions. No words were needed. It was written all over Roger’s face. Roger knew he had given the answer and Rafa knew he had got the answer. It was a confession. A silent but clear confession. 

And Rafa’s heart broke. For himself as well as for the fate that waited this beautiful family. Divorce. God. This was wrong. Rafa wondered if there actually was a solution which didn’t end up hurting so much. Was he the problem here? The thought hit him for only a split second but before he could ponder on it Roger said something.

“I don’t even have the words to apologise to you. No apology is enough and I know that. But know this - I’m not leaving you, ever. No matter what. You can punish me however you want after. You’re justified to hate me for this. But right now, just please. Don’t.”

“Roger…” Why would he hate Roger? Why would he want to punish him? Yes it was wrong for Roger to fall in love with Mirka. But if Rafa was being honest, it was only natural. He had suspected it for a long time now. This didn’t come as a shock. It came as a confirmation of what he already thought anyway.

“Please.” Roger looked at him with a look that said “I’m already broken, don't say anything right now”

So Rafa shut up. He didn’t tell Roger that he had suspected the confession, neither did he tell him about how divorce could affect everyone in the family. Rafa said nothing. He just let Roger be. 

But he couldn’t ignore this. He couldn’t carry on and pretend like nothing’s wrong whilst Roger got torn to pieces. Roger was in love with her. How do you simply ignore that?


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Throw away the memories,   
> Lest they make you fall.   
> Throw away my heart,   
> Lest your life it'd stall.   
> Go away so far my love,   
> Lest you hear me call.

It was nine at night and the Federer Residence was frantic. Roger sat on the floor in the corner of the lounge, eyes fixed on the main entrance. 

Around him, his family were calling people, some of his friends had arrived, his team was in touch with the police. He just sat in the corner on the floor. 

It had been eleven hours since anyone last saw her. She had just walked out, according to the guards. No bags or anything with her. She had simply walked out, empty handed. 

Myla had found her wedding ring on the dresser in her room. She had handed it to Lynnette. Lynnette had handed it to Roger. Roger had handed it to the police. And they had handed it back to him. It was clutched tightly in his palm right now. Its diamond digging into his skin. 

The police were trying to find her. She was nowhere to be seen. No one had seen her. The entire city was being surveyed apparently. But Roger just sat in the corner of the lounge, staring at the entrance. 

He'd been an inch from losing her, exactly a month ago. An inch. One night had separated her and death. And here it was again today. The possibility of coming face to face with not Mirka but Mirka’s corp- 

He swallowed. 

Every time he felt someone approach him, he expected the news. That it was all over. That there was no Mirka. No Mirka to talk to. No Mirka to rely on. No Mirka to see everyday. No Mirka. A habit of eighteen years now broken.  
But no news came. Neither good nor bad. Everyone had sat down on the couches now. Waiting. Just waiting. He closed his eyes. 

And it was at that moment that she walked in. Through the main entrance. Into the lounge. 

His eyes snapped open at the gasps in the room. His gaze searched the room frantically till it landed on her. She was surrounded by the family and the friends and the team. Being hugged. Being kissed. Being asked questions. 

Her eyes skidded around till they fell on him. In the corner. He looked into her eyes. He hadn't gotten up. He hadn't said anything. He hadn't moved an inch. He just looked at her. Silent tears straining his cheeks. 

Everyone was looking at him now and the room turned silent. She was still looking at him. Her eyes a well of longing. 

Hushed whispers filled the room. And slowly they all left. Retiring for the night, leaving them to themselves. 

She stood where she was. He sat where was. Gaze still locked. 

She moved towards him. His eyes followed her as she sat on the floor in front of him. She was searching a response in his blank stare. 

“Roger... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare everyone. I just needed some time on my own. In my own head. I was literally 15 minutes away from here. In a local cafe. I just sat there. I didn't realise what could happen. I'm sorry. When I saw the police vans circling the area, I asked someone what had happened. And the guy recognized me and told me what was happening. I was so freaked out. I came as soon as I could after that. I didn't mean to do this. Roger. I'm sorry. I'm really very sorry. It was stupid of me. Rog. Roger. Say something at least.” 

Roger looked at her for a long time. Finally, abruptly, he got up and grabbed her arm and pulled her up, off the floor. He walked out of the room, through the corridors and kicked the door to his suite open. Almost pulling her behind him all the way. He let go off her arm when they were in and headed to a large bin in the corner. He toppled it over. Glass bottles, some scotches, some beers, some she didn't recognise, poured out of it and onto the floor. 

Mirka stared. How many were there? Ten, twelve? They weren't there when she was living in here, just a week back. This was a week's worth of consumption? Her eyes snapped up at Roger, shocked and questioning. 

“Yes I drank all that.” 

She gaped at him. 

He stormed into the bedroom and came back. His hands full of bottles of sleeping pills. 

“Sleeping pills. Two bottles down in one week” 

He thrashed though a drawer in the living room. 

“Cigarettes” he threw the packets on the floor. 

To say she was horrified was an understatement. Roger never smoked. In all the years she has known him, he had never ever smoked. Her heart was racing. She knew he was disturbed. But so disturbed? Why? Roger was trying to get past the three weeks he spent with her, she knew that. But this? This indicated much more than just that. 

“You,” there was a bitter quality to his tone, which he never had for her before, “aren't the only one who is suffering. But I didn't do what you did today. I would never do what you did today. You had me thinking you went and killed yourself!” 

“Roger... I- I am honestly really ashamed” 

“Tell me something Mirka. What do you want? You want to just torture me? You want revenge of some sort for what I did to you, all those years ago? Why are you doing this? One week, for one week you haven't even talked to me. You’re ignoring me. Why? Am I just a dirty, disgusting whore now, who took advantage of your memory loss and fucked you?” 

She flinched at his words, “Roger, god, no. I- I know you did all that because you care for me.” 

“Yeah? Then why the fuck are you acting like I’ve done a terrible sin? Why?” 

She shook her head. 

“What would you have done, had this happened to me? Would you have left me to just suffer? Told me the truth? What? Tell me!” 

“I’d have done the same. I'm not saying you've done anything wrong.” 

“You aren't saying it. You're acting it! You want divorce. You know I'm not going to say no or anything. You know that. Then why this drama? Are you just playing with me Mirka? Toying with me? Because let me tell you, the past month has already made a joke out of me. You don't need to add to that.” 

“Roger. I didn't do it on purpose. I'm sorry. I didn't know it would create such a big situation-” 

“You didn't know? You didn't think that you simply walking out, without letting anyone know, leaving your phone behind, leaving your things here, leaving the damn ring, not turning up for hours, would create a situation? You thought we'd all be cheery and happy that we didn't even hear from you for a whole day? Do you even think about me Mirka?” 

She just stood there. She didn't have a reply other than apologise. 

“Rog, you didn't have to worry so much-” 

That pushed him over the edge. He surged forward and grabbed both her arms, forcing her closer. 

“I don't have to worry? I fucking love you damn it! Don't you get it? Don't you see it? Don't you Mirka?” 

Pure shock ran through her. She searched his eyes. There was rage in them. Hurt. Pain. And love. 

He let go abruptly, realising what he’d just said. That he had just confessed his love to the one person he was trying so hard not to love. The one person he was trying to get over. The one person he was trying to forget. The one feeling he was trying to lock away and suppress, had just left his lips as a confession. It was out now. Out in the open. 

He turned his back to her. 

“Go away Mirka. Just leave. You want divorce, I'll give you divorce. I'll get a lawyer in tomorrow and we'll sort it out with the paperwork. Just leave me and my life alone.” 

“Roger, stop talking to me like that” Mirka snapped. This wasn’t any easier on her. It wasn’t like she was happy leaving him. To leave him was to leave a part of herself. She knew she was going to leave this house with only a little bit of herself with her. Because she had invested everything else in him.

“Mirka, I’m not going to argue with you. Leave me alone.”

“Well, no. What do you know Roger? You fall in love with me and now you’re not with me and you’re having this emotional conflict because you’re so clearly trying to choose between Rafa and me and you aren’t able to. Do you know how I felt for nine years? Because I loved you. I loved you when I saw you with Rafa that night. I loved you when you told me that you loved him. I loved you when I ended this unofficially. And here I am, *still* in love with the man who has hurt me more than anyone else. Yeah, I stepped away from you and gave you and Rafa a problem-free road. That doesn’t mean, it didn’t hurt. It killed, okay? For years. This feeling is not new for me, although it is for you. This feeling of seeing someone you love everyday of your life and *knowing* they aren’t yours. That you’ll never get their love in return. To know you had them and now you don’t. I stayed because I loved you more than I loved my own life and my own happiness. Because *you* meant more to me than anything else, *your* achievements meant more, *your* career meant more, even after you left me for Rafa. It was always about you. My life revolves around you. And now you’re hurt that I’m ignoring you? That I’m not talking to you? *I* should be much worse then, because you didn’t ignore me or not talk to me, you literally took me granted all the bloody time! I don’t know how to be anymore selfless than I already am Roger. And I’m sorry if I can’t stand up to whatever expectation you have from me. Because I *had* managed to lock away all my love for you and just look at you as a friend. I had managed to keep it away even from myself. To hide it in a deep corner somewhere where no one could see it. I *had* managed to forget that I still bloody love you. And now that’s gone too. And I’ve fallen head over heels in love with you, again. I love you and I can’t live here and face you every day and bloody act like it’s all okay. I’ve done it once. I’m not doing it again. Understand?!”

Roger stared at her. She had gone red from all the anger. An outburst like that is so rare for Mirka. It almost never happened. Which means when it does happen, you have pushed her to her limit. That you’ve broken the dam of almost unlimited patience and sympathy she possessed. That you’ve managed to wound her in ways unimaginable. 

Mirka let out a shuddering breath and flopped down on the couch, cradling her face in her hands. Her head hurt. She almost regretted that. Almost. But she had had enough. Seeing his room filled with alcohol and sleeping pills and cigarettes, which was so unlike him, had triggered her. What did this man want? Neither did he want to come back to her, nor was he letting her leave peacefully. She couldn’t live with the guilt of having pushed Roger into all this and ruining his life. She knew very well where the path he was beginning to tread ended. Excessive alcohol, depression, drugs, self-harm – it was all a cycle once you got into it. It wasn’t a far-fetched possibility with the alarming rate he was going at.

The seconds dragged by.

“Mirka.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

She looked up at him.

"I thought you were just ignoring me because you were unhappy about having lived with me. I guess that was just insensitive of me. I really do love you Mirka and I'm sorry that I sprung this on like I did. I didn't mean to. But Mirka, I- Rafa. I can’t leave-“

“I know that, not asking you to leave him.”

“You deserve more than me Mirka. Much more. I couldn’t ever give you all that you deserve. You start fresh, okay? After. Don’t look back. At me or tennis or whatever. Just live your life to its full.” He always knew he had hurt Mirka. That he was taking her for granted. That she deserved more than what she was getting. He knew it. But it never came to the fore quite like this. Roger felt the need to let her out of this stupid joke of a marriage. He hadn't said no to divorce anyway, but now it was all the more important. Even if it broke him. Because Mirka deserved more love than he could ever give her. His heart ached for her. The woman behind his everything. It was a disgrace on his part that he could not keep this woman happy. Not anymore. Tomorrow, first thing, he was calling the lawyers to register the case for divorce. Sooner the better, he reckoned, sooner the better. 

She shook her head and stood up, “You have to promise me you'll stop all this though. Promise me you’ll stop now before it carries you away too far.”

Roger smiled, and inched forward, he leaned in and caught her bottom lip between his lips. Only for a few seconds. For the last time ever. She closed her eyes and let him. This was the man she loved. This was the man she had married. This was the man who loved her back now. This was man who she was going to divorce.

He stepped back and looked at her, “Can't promise that Mir. And that's not up to you either, how I deal with this. “ 

“You can't carry on like that Roger!” 

“Shh. Doesn't matter Mirka. Forget about this. Don't linger over this now. It’s past.”

“Rog you have to-”

“Like I said Mirka, it's up to me how I handle myself. I’ll get over it soon enough. And even if I don't, my bad. Don't worry about me okay? And I'm not being sarcastic, Mir.”

Before she could say more though, he gave her another tight smile and walked out. Mirka tried hard not to cry. They loved each other and here they were, breaking the marriage anyway. How will they recover from this? She looked around the room, the state of Roger’s suite. Was this what she was leaving behind, after all these years? Was this the end? Like this? Broken hearts and degrading lives. Ruined, in every way. She broke down. 


	22. Chapter 22

It was a glorious morning. The sun shone brightly through the large glass panels, bathing the room in an innocent morning glow. 

Outside it was freezing cold. But inside it was warm and bright. The inside only ever allowed the happiness to filter in, blocking out all the harsh promises of the outside. Outside was the reality. Inside was the home. 

Home - where family was, where safety was, where comfort was. Home - where lazy mornings were, where hot chocolates were, where hugs were. Home - where love was, where longing was, where irreplaceable ties were. 

Home - that was soon to become an ex-home.

She picked up the pen. She was aware of the tremor that had seized her hands. The sweat that had clung to her palms and fingers. She gripped the pen tighter - she was certain she would drop it otherwise. 

He had already signed. He sat next to her. A picture of calm which never betrayed the emotions within. Unless you knew what to look for. Which she did. She could read the storm behind his facade like it was an open book. It was that obvious to her. And that didn't help one bit. It made her tremor worse, if that was even possible. 

One sign. One paper. One marriage. Just one scribble. And it was done. Just one last push. And it would be over. One final effort. And she would be free. 

The flimsy pen touched the paper which titled itself proudly as ‘Mr Roger Robert Federer and Mrs Miroslava Vavrinec Federer Divorce File Sheet’ 

She pressed it firmly on the crisp white, the ink seeping in. She blinked once, clearing her vision. She willed her hand to move. And between her willing and her hand moving, her phone rang. 

Was that relief Mirka felt wash over her? Why was that? Why was she finding relief in a momentary delay? Odd. 

She glanced at the screen and frowned. *That* was surely not the person she expected any call from. She didn't expect any call at all, but least of all from this particular person. She looked at Roger, then at the screen again. Then at the lawyer who sat opposite them. 

“Excuse me one minute. Sorry”

She got out of the room and felt her heart thud in her chest. Leaning against the wall, she took a deep breath in and pressed ‘answer’, putting the phone to the ear. 

“Hello?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliff hanger again! Evil me XD
> 
> As you as you've probably guessed, we're heading towards the end now, so the next updates will be a few days till I work everything out haha 
> 
> Do let me know what you think as always!  
> xx


	23. Chapter 23

It had been fifteen minutes since she had walked out of the room. Roger had sat there, getting restless by the second. This was a traumatic experience as it was, he would rather get it over with. The delay was getting to him. She had been an inch from signing and now she had still not come back. He wished this would be over as soon as possible, so he could finally just drown in pain rather than be left hanging.  

He got up, apologised to the lawyer and went to find Mirka. 

He found her just around the corner, leaning against a wall. She was looking serious. 

“Mirka? You okay?”

She snapped out if her trance and looked at him. She studied him, but didn't say anything. 

“Hello?” he waved a hand in front of her. “The lawyer is waiting, you know. You didn't... sign” he swallowed. The irony of life was that of all the people, he was the one encouraging her to sign the divorce papers, despite being the one who would be the most hurt by it. 

“I need some time.”

“I'm sorry?”

“I'm going out. I need some time.”

“Mirka you're not going out again like that. Yesterday you...”

“I'm *telling* you this time around aren't I?”

“Yeah but the guy”

“God's sake Roger. You're Roger Federer. Use the status a bit at least? You can tell him to come back later. You have the luxury.”

“Fine.”

“Actually. Can you come with me too?”

“Where?”

“Just somewhere. Anywhere. Need to talk”

Roger frowned. What was the matter? Who was that call from? He was dying to ask but he reigned in his curiosity. He'll find out soon enough, he was sure. He nodded and went back to tell the lawyer to come back later and apologise for the inconvenience. 

\--- 

Mirka was in a conflict. The call had been... Interesting. To say the least. It posed questions. It demanded retrospection. It demanded introspection. It demanded self-critique. She didn't know what she wanted anymore. It was tempting. But there were also things that couldn't just be wiped off. 

Right now though, another question plagued her: how to tell Roger? What to say to him? She was thinking about the call but she was finding it hard to process herself. How would he react? 

As far as Mirka knew Roger, it would be out of question. Hell, it was out of question for her too, till not long ago actually. She hadn't changed her mind. But whereas before she wouldn't even give it a second thought, she had to admit that now she was beginning to consider it. Why? Because she loved Roger. Plain and simple really. 

But Roger? She didn't know. 

They were driving in silence. She had asked him to take her somewhere. Anywhere where they wouldn't be trampled by people. So they were going somewhere. Where exactly, she didn't know. Didn't care. 

They arrived at a small village bistro after half an hour of driving. It was actually a cottage, converted into a bsitro. They got out and went in. 

Roger talked to the owner and he nodded and led them to a secluded area. No one could see them or hear them here. Only, this was a barn. Which was semi-converted. She was grateful for not having any animals though. They sat at the small wooden table by the window. 

“You come here a lot?”

“Yeah. When I want peace.”

“It definitely gives you that. Although, not exactly luxurious huh?”

“Luxury and peace are mutually exclusive.”

“Wow. Okaaay”

“So, go on”

“Yes. About that. Um. It's a bit... Hey I'm just going to grab a coffee, you want?”

Roger frowned and she saw him look at her questioningly. But he answered anyway “Flat white please” 

“Okay.” she walked back to the main cafe area. When she came back with only one drink, Roger gave her a puzzled look 

“You don't want one?”

“This is mine.”

“Then where's mine?”

“Share? I only had change for one in the pocket”

He stared at her. Then shook his head and gestured to her, “ladies first”

She shrugged and took a sip. Then put the mug back down for him. He took a sip too. He was looking at her, she knew. But she was avoiding his gaze. They were half way through the mug when his patience broke and he asked again. 

“What is all this Mirka? We were half-way through filing a divorce and two hours later we're half way through a mug of coffee in a bistro, like nothing's wrong.”

“Roger. Have you noticed how we have been drinking from this mug?”

“Okay. Now I'm convinced you're kidding me”

“Just answer me, please?” Mirka knew this was unlike her. She was direct and blunt. He was the one supposed to do what she was doing right now - beat around the bush, rather than just spell it out clearly. But she couldn't help it. She couldn't bring herself to do that today. 

He sighed. “What do you mean how have we been drinking?”

“There is a rhythm to it. I drink, put it down, then you drink, put it down, and so on.”

“Yeah, we are co-operating. So?”

“So, sharing isn't always impossible”

She watched Roger frown as he waited for her to get to the point. When he realised she had already made her point and wasn't saying anything else, she watched him replay her words in his head. His frown deepened as he tried gauging what she meant. She could pin the exact moment when it all sank in and his expression changed from frowning to disbelief to shock. He glared at her with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. She looked away from his scrutiny and at the mug instead. She could see the marks of both their lips on either side of it. She reached for it and took a sip. Then put it back down. 

When she glanced up after what felt like a good ten minutes, he was looking out of the window. The sun fell on him as strands of light, its rays sliced by the branches of a nearby tree. It rendered his hair in shades of golden and bronze and his dark brown eyes in shades of molten chocolate. She observed him for a long time, taking in the sight he was and realising, once again, just how much she loved him. It struck her anew that divorce meant she wouldn't see him everyday. She may not see him for months at a time. Maybe longer. The possibility clawed at her heart. When she thought of it like that, she felt like she could die without him. She knew how hopelessly romantic and corny that sounded, even in her own head, but she couldn't help feeling that way. 

Mirka knew how much of a principled man Roger was. Anyone who knew him, knew that. She was like that too. For the first time in her life, she had ever considered what she was considering today. It scared her to think that it was her love for him which pushed her to think about it. It was scary. The same hadn't happened even in 2009. Even then, she had broken up. Sharing him was never even an option. Ever. So what changed now? She wasn't sure. Was it the three weeks she spent loving this man again? Did it click some button of prior passion and zest for him? Or, was it the thought of actually leaving him? What prompted her more, to be with him or to be without him? She didn't know. If she had to pick though, she would say it was the latter. To go away from him. To not see him everyday. To not hear his voice everyday. All these years, he was still right in front of her. Now though, this would be the end. 

When people became habits, Mirka reckoned, they were harder to leave. 

“Whose call was it?” When he finally spoke, it was barely a whisper and his tone betrayed not a trace of emotion.  His gaze was still fixed out of the window. 

“Ana.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on the next ones already!
> 
> Comments are most welcome, would love to know what you think at this point? 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed XD  
> xx


	24. Chapter 24

He allowed the water to carry him around. He simply floated on its surface. The top-floor swimming pool was a beautiful location. It was an exquisite night too, warm and calm. From here he could see the twinkling city beneath him. Melbourne shone like a galaxy in the middle of night. Its streetlights looked like a spattering of diamond, its traffic lights rubies and emeralds and its skyline the ragged yet deliberate ridges of an amethyst crystal. It was a fine city.

He liked the sensation of this water under him. It was different from sea water. Sea water constantly pulled and pushed you. Its currents were a battle you had to constantly fight. It was a race. Sea water had a teasing quality to it. The water in a pool, however, was demure. Almost coy. It let you be the way you wanted. It did not interfere. It did not object. It did not attempt to dictate. It allowed domination whereas the sea was a struggle for domination. For survival. For staying above the surface rather than getting drawn under it. 

For someone as adventurous as him, he preferred the sea most of the times. It was how he grew up. The sea allowed you to test your limits, your boundaries, your abilities. Because it tempted you to push your skill and your luck and your fate. Almost always, he enjoyed that. Almost always. Not today though. Today he was in a different mood. He didn’t want adventure today. He just wanted some calm so he could think.

Rafa wasn't naive. He knew that if Roger divorced Mirka, he would eventually get over it. He also knew that if he and Roger broke up, both of them would eventually get over it too. Rafa would find someone else. And Roger will find it in himself to devote himself entirely to Mirka and leave Rafa behind. Because life moved on. People didn't stay in the same place forever. They always moved on. Except maybe, people like his mother. Who, he sometimes thought, even time itself had forgotten. She was still where his father had left her. That’s what he had thought all these years, anyway. He had thought she never even tried to fully forget his father.

That wasn't the case though, she had told him a few nights ago back at home. She *had* tried to find someone else. Someone who could love her. Someone who would care about how she felt. And she had found. She had found many over the many years. The difficulty is not that you don’t find anyone. The difficulty is in settling down again. Her attempts at a new partner never yielded results lasting more than a few months, a year at most. The problem wasn't in them she had come to realise eventually. The problem was her mind. Every relationship required both partners to give back to it. The relationship had to be fed and kept alive, much like a baby. Both partners had to take the effort of giving back time, love and interest. The people she had met weren't the ones who didn't give back; she was. She couldn't find within herself enough of herself to give back. To anyone. 

Thinking about it, it was the strangest thing Rafa had heard. Why would she hold herself back for someone who hurt her so badly? Why not move on? It was easy to say that though. Life was much more complex than just a simple tag of ‘move on’. As he had listened to his mother tell him how the last few years had been spent, the first thing that hit him was how little he knew her. This woman, who he would easily claim to know the best, was in fact very unfamiliar to him. He couldn't believe that how much lies within the surface. Life really wasn't shallow. 

You invest yourself in a relationship, she said. Everyday. Every minute. In every action of a lover, you lose your heart a bit by bit. In the smile of your lover. In the way he sits next to you while watching telly. In the way he holds the door for you every time. In the way he finds a way to joke in the middle of an argument. In the way he does your laundry too because he knows it’s the chore you hate most. In all he does for you, you invest bits of yourself. Even after you’re no longer together, even if it had ended in hurt and heartbreak, you do remember the countless moments of happiness that person had given you over the years. his mother loved his father. Even today. That even after all those years of loneliness, she couldn't bring herself to hate him or loathe him was testimony to how much she had invested in him. 

Rafa knew it wasn’t the most straightforward of feelings. But it did make sense. You don't, rather can't, simply erase an entire journey from your memory. It stays with you even after you stop travelling with it. The memories. The luggage. The weight. You carry it with you whenever you meet new people, whenever you try to build a new relationship, whenever you try to love again. And also the fear, according to his mother. What if this ends too? What if I get hurt again? What if it fails again? The fear is the worst of all. Because it truly stops you from taking a step ahead. The fear that your heart will break again. And with every break you will lose a bit more of yourself. Until there won’t be a ‘you’ anymore. It was a scary thing to be thinking.

Of course, not everyone felt the same way because not all relationships were the same. Some relationships were just bad. There was abuse and violence and threats in them. And in that case you cannot possibly love the person who abused you. But in other relationships, when your time together was otherwise happy, it becomes very hard to just forget. That had been her experience anyway. 

Why this entire conversation had pursued in the first place, was because Rafa had pretty much admitted that he was thinking of breaking up with Roger for the sake of Roger's family. He was almost convinced, not long ago, that it was the only way to around this problem because he knew what divorce meant for a family. He didn't miss the shock that showed up on her face at his admission, but she hadn't exactly discouraged him. Instead she had gone on to tell him what a divorce, or a break up in his case, felt like for the partner who was still in love, who still wanted to carry on, who wasn't the one who really wanted divorce in the first place. The kind of partner that he would be if he broke up with Roger - someone who still loved but had left anyway. Or even Mirka, for that matter, would be in a similar situation after their divorce. 

Obviously, Rafa had only ever seen divorce from his point of view and so he couldn't bear to see it happen to Myla and Charlene. He hadn't exactly thought about himself in the process because he had simply not known what it felt like to be on that side of things. Before Roger, Rafa had never committed himself this much to relationship. They had all been pretty casual or at least not serious. His mother, on the other hand, had lived and seen all sides of a broken marriage. She knew the things that could lie ahead. Of course, she knew that Rafa may not face all the same hurdles as her. He may move on smoothly and would actually get over Roger, if they did break up. But even then, it wouldn’t be easy. It was never easy to be in love with one person, get over him, and then try to connect with someone else entirely. Because then it’s almost a half-hearted attempt – something you’re doing just because you want to prove to yourself that you’ve moved on. And that never worked in totality. 

In her own case, she did admit that the very fact that she still loved her ex-husband was demeaning her own value. He had hurt her and he didn't deserve any of her feelings, least of all her continued love. She knew it was stupid and self-devaluing to love the man who hurt her. But the fact of the matter was, you cannot manipulate your emotions any better than a lighthouse can manipulate a storm. You can see what is right and what is wrong, you can see where the problem is and what you need to do to solve it, but you are completely and utterly helpless in terms of actually doing it. 

And Rafa couldn't deny that. It was true. Feelings could not be controlled or just forgotten. Why else had Roger fallen in love with Mirka again? Why else had Mirka fallen for him again? Why was he himself still longing for Roger, despite knowing he had fallen in love with Mirka and, in a way, had betrayed him? Why was Roger still adamant on staying with Rafa despite knowing it would mean leaving Mirka? There was no answer to it. Because feelings could not be dominated. And in Rafa’s case, Roger wouldn’t even be the one breaking up. Roger was ready to divorce Mirka and let it all go for Rafa. Rafa didn’t even have the excuse of wanting to hate Roger if their relationship ended because it would be all down to him. So where would that leave him afterwards? How would he feel it after everything was said and done?

A small part of his mind did wonder though, whether his mother was just trying to scare him from breaking up with Roger because she wanted her son to be happy. However, Rafa did realise soon enough, that his mother wasn't trying to instil a fear of what the future might hold if he left Roger. She was trying to show him that it would be foolish to think you would get over it so easily because she knew people don’t. She was trying to show him the reality of the situation which could possibly wait for him, should he break up with Roger. It was one thing to perform an act of heroism, driven by emotions alone, for your lover's family. It was quite another to come face to face with it for years afterwards. Stupidity and selflessness were only kept apart by a very thin line, she had said. And although he had hated to admit it to her, she wasn’t entirely wrong.  
Her solution to the problem though, was something he could not fathom. Share? Why should he share? Because, life wasn't ideal. Simple as. It wasn't this beautiful fairy-tale where everyone lived happily ever after. No one talked about what happened after that. Even the best of star-crossed lovers have to adjust, sacrifice and compromise in their lives. But no one talked about that reality. 

Her words echoed in his head. “Life is what you make of it Rafa. Make it difficult with pointless idealism and it will prove tedious. Make it practical and it will prove manageable. No one ever gets the best of both worlds. It comes down to what is worth more - your notion of self-respect which prevents you from sharing Roger or, Roger’s company which, despite being non-exclusive, will last you a lifetime? Which do you value more? And which can you live *without*?”

And it had made sense. It had made sense because he hadn't thought about a life without Roger ever since they got together. Right now, all he had thought was that he could never bring himself to let the divorce happen because he just couldn’t. But to live without Roger himself, was something he hadn't thought through either and now that he did, he could see that it would tear him down to pieces. It would be the end of him. And also for Roger, for whom either way was bad - equally bad. 

Rafa let the water drift him around for a little while longer before gently pushing against it to direct himself to the edge of the pool. He climbed out and headed to the showers taking his towel with him. The hardest thing wasn't the decision. The hardest thing was the follow through. And none of them, being the proud individuals they were, were used to sharing anything. Let alone such a private and intimate relationship. Exclusivity had been a given in all the years he had been with Roger. He knew Mirka to be no different. Her unofficial divorce was testimony of that. And it came as no surprise therefore, that this mutual agreement that Roger was not a battleground, was at least partly the reason for their sustained friendship. Mirka had evolved to be like a sister over the years, but the start of that relationship was very closely linked to the fact that they didn't see each other as threats. How would it pan out if it had been different, he had no idea. Would they be some sort of rivals, competing for Roger’s attention and time? He cringed at the thought. It seriously disgusted him. He hoped they would be mature enough to not let it scoop down to such petty levels. Occasional conflicts would be inevitable. But competition needn't be. It was a long way off still, he knew. Right now wasn’t the time to worry about the long-term because they hadn’t yet gotten through the short-term. If they were to get through this, then there would be ample time to figure out long-term details later.

He closed his eyes to the spray of the hot water and wished himself to relax. The tension in his shoulder was unrelenting today. He had had a massage, a nice swim, and now a shower. But it wouldn't leave him. He was nervous. Anxious. He had only vague notions of what to expect - of what could happen or what couldn't happen. He didn't really know how to go about it. But he had decided to face it head-on, whatever it was. 

He got dressed, still half wet, and took the lift to his room. It was exactly how he had left it. Except for the lights. They were on now. That could only mean one thing. His heart suddenly raced in his chest and he could hear it thudding in his ears. Anticipation and anxiety were a deadly mix. Rafa shivered as he made his way to the bedroom. He saw the spare key card on the shelf on his way there which only confirmed what he already knew. 

He got to the bedroom and stood there, unsure of what to do next. His own breathing echoed in the room. But it wasn't just his breathing that he could hear. 

Roger was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard Rafa come in and got up. Their eyes met and before Rafa knew it, he had enveloped Roger in his arms. He felt Roger’s arms around him almost instantly and he found some relief in that. They stood there for the longest of time. Savouring the other. A month and a bit since they last met. The longest time since they got together.  
Rafa let himself calm down in Roger’s embrace but it didn't escape his notice that Roger was slightly tense. Only slightly. But even so, he had buried his face in Rafa’s shoulder and had his fingers tangled in his hair. There weren't any words needed just yet. They might not even be needed in the whole night. He didn't know. 

He pulled back slightly to look at his lover properly. Roger reluctantly let go Rafa’s shoulder and took a small step back. Rafa brought his hands up and cupped Roger’s face, urging him to look at him. And he did.

“Rogi.” He whispered softly. 

Rafa looked into the eyes he had looked into a million times before. He always found a tenderness in Roger’s eyes whenever they were alone. He found that today too. But there also something else there which he couldn't quite pin down. Wariness perhaps. Or apprehension. Like Roger was scared to open up. To talk. To let go. Rafa couldn’t really know what the battle in Roger’s head looked like. He didn’t know how it felt to love two people. Rafa could see Roger had put himself in something like a shell, he just wished he tried to overcome that at least.

But he decided to just let it be for now. Instead, he leaned in and kissed Roger. His lips were soft, just like Rafa remembered. He sucked on them delicately. Taking in the moment. This was Roger, finally with him. It wasn't a dream, it wasn't an illusion. It was real. He surprised himself with how uncharacteristically gentle he was being today. Like something would break at the slightest of force.

He realised Roger was kissing him back just as softly and it was the most beautiful feeling ever. He could lose himself here. In this moment. He didn’t need anything else. He didn’t need to worry. He didn’t need to talk. He didn’t need to know. Just this, right now, was where he could spend an eternity. Between the air they shared and the warmth they exchanged was a familiarity of years. Home was right here. In Roger’s embrace.  
After what felt like hours, Rafa sensed a familiar heat pulse low in his belly. He didn’t even notice his grip around Roger’s waist tighten ever so slightly as he deepened the kiss. It was instinctive. It was Roger’s reaction that caught his attention though. He had stiffened in Rafa’s arms. He hadn’t broken the kiss but neither was he kissing back like before. There was a hint of reluctance in his demeanour suddenly. He was, in a highly muted way, trying to break away from the embrace.

Rafa would be lying if he said he didn't expect this. But he had been really hoping that it wouldn't happen. It didn’t need an expert to guess what was going through Roger’s head right now. Memories. Guilt. Mirka. It wasn’t the first time he had reacted like that. It had happened before in their holiday home too. Only that time, Rafa had let him go. This time, he was adamant to do otherwise. He tightened his grip around Roger’s waist even more and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. He was well aware what a contrast he was proving from just a few seconds ago but he did it anyway. He could feel Roger’s resistance around him now. Roger wanted to break away. He brought his hands between them to gently part from Rafa. But Rafa, being the slightly stronger one, didn’t let him. Instead he went for Roger’s bottom lip and bit down, almost breaking skin. Roger yelped at that and pushed himself away from Rafa. Rafa still had his arms around him, but they weren’t kissing anymore. The look of disbelief mingled with hurt was clear on Roger’s face. And it hurt to see.

Rafa wasn't being insensitive. He couldn’t quite believe what he was doing himself. It wasn’t jealously that made him do that. He wasn't taken over by some unquenched lust either. Although he knew what he had just done would seem exactly like that. Especially to Roger. But it wasn’t that; it was actually something else entirely. Rafa knew Roger was fragile right now and he really didn’t want to push him at all. He would rather step back and give him time to digest the situation on his own. But as far as he knew Roger, the sooner he got over this the better it was for him. The more time he spent thinking about it, trying to process it, the deeper this seed of unease and reluctance would borough through his mind. And how long could this go on? Roger needed to let go the fear of memories coming back to him. The memories were not the problem. It was the fear, that they would come back and make him feel guilty, that was the problem. And that wouldn’t just go away by giving it time. It would only go away by facing it. 

A month. That was the trial period. It was a huge decision for all three of them. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t work. In that case, they decided, Roger and Mirka would just go ahead with the divorce. But before that, they'd have a go at this idea of sharing. See if it is faceable for everyone involved. Rafa had always known it would be the hardest for Roger. But what Rafa didn't want was for Roger to spend the month avoiding the issue. If they had agreed to try this, might as well try it whole-heartedly; might as well give it a real go. He knew Roger was committed to it. He just couldn’t bring himself to get over this fear of memories and guilt. But he needed to.

Rafa was brought back by Roger saying something, “Raf, let go. Please. Give me some time to adjust to this”

“Adjust to what Rogi?”

“To this. You. Mirka.” he sighed, exacerbated. “To sharing you two. It's difficult, okay? It's- just leave me please”

“Time will not help you adjust no, Roger. We have to face it. I no let you run away for a month. If we try, we try like we mean it. Or it will never work no?”

Roger shook his head “Let me go Rafa”

“You need to get over it Roger. Today.”

“Raf-“

Rafa brought his hands up and caught Roger’s in his grip. He pulled him in and let his lips crash. He didn't let Roger pull back this time. Rafa knew this was wrong. He was pushing Roger. But he just wanted him to let go his apprehensions. His method was wrong, he knew, but his intentions weren’t. He poured himself into kiss. His explored his lover's mouth with care and gentleness. He wasn't being rough, he was just being insistent. Slowly, very slowly, he felt Roger’s resistance melt ever so slightly. At least he wasn’t physically trying to push Rafa away, like before. He was complacent. And Rafa’s heart broke at that but he wanted Roger to realise that he *could* manage two different lives. He *could* manage two sets of memories. He *could* manage two lovers without guilt and confusion. Rafa wanted to show him that it was possible. He wanted him to have faith in himself. He wanted to get Roger over these ugly feelings of cheating and guilt.

And so he let himself act on instinct. He didn’t think about it. Every kiss, every nibble, every push and pull came easy with the practice of years. And he let it. He let himself drown in the moment and he was determined to pull Roger with him. 

Rafa really wanted this month to work out. He wanted it to be a possibility. It would mean his worst nightmares about divorce wouldn’t come true. It would mean he wouldn’t be leaving Roger. It would mean there might actually be some sort of a good ending, if not a happily-ever-after one. And he was ready to settle for that, despite knowing it would be a compromise. It was still better than the other options and he would take it, given the choice. And he was going to try for it, with all his efforts.

Right now though, he didn’t know what he was doing exactly. It might work. It might not. He had no clue. He might end up apologising for this for a long time because he was pretty much forcing himself onto Roger. It was a risk he was taking. A big one. He knew it. He did it anyway. It might just turn out to be worth it in the long run. Because Rafa didn’t want any one of them to suffer. He didn’t want any one of them looking back and regretting their choices. He didn’t want any one of them to somehow end up in a situation like his own mother. Because these were the people he loved, may it be Roger, Mirka, Myla or Charlene. He did call them family and he would try very hard for them to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I cannot tell you how nervous I am about this chapter. 
> 
> This one has eluded me for days. I wrote it, then re-wrote it and then wrote it again. I couldn't find the right frequency and I'm still not sure. So I've decided to just go all out and post what I hope does justice to the story so far, as well as Rafa's character. 
> 
> Please be kind and don't hate me if I've totally ruined it! 
> 
> Comments are an essential tool for my survival, pls do comment! 
> 
> PS there will be a couple more chapters I think, so this one's not the last :)  
> xx


	25. Chapter 25

There had once been a night when she had walked out on their marriage after catching Roger with Rafa together. Then, there was tonight, when she had encouraged Roger to go to Rafa in a bid to give their marriage another chance. To give everyone another chance to save what they could. 

The difference between the then and the now wasn't merely the years. It was what transpired in those years. Mirka often wondered why she didn't choose to find someone else after her unofficial separation with Roger. The option was always open. Roger was with someone else and there was nothing stopping her to find a new partner for herself. She hadn't exactly decided to stay alone. Of course not. She hadn't gone overboard to find someone either but she wasn't closed off to the idea at all. There was no reason really. But a few days ago, when she had talked to Ana on the phone and listened to her narration of her own experience with divorce, she realised they had been pretty much on the same boat. She hadn't realised it before but her own experience wasn't much different from Ana’s. Come to think of it, Ana had tried similarly. Ana had failed similarly. Failed to move on. Failed to love someone else. Failed to really get over things. It was funny that Mirka, of all people, had found herself in a similar position for years and hadn't even realised. She knew she loved Roger but she didn't think that it might've been the reason she hadn't quite managed to move on. 

Had she moved on, what would these last few weeks have been like? If she had another partner and then she lost her memory, what would Roger have done? It was a weird question to ask. She was thankful she didn't need to know the answer though. There was enough complication as it was, there was no need for more. If she had been with someone else and then if she would have fallen in love with Roger in the three weeks, only to find out that they had split a long time ago, it would be the most distressing time of her life. She knew Roger had found himself in a similar situation currently, loving two people, and she could only imagine his turmoil. Who wouldn't be torn in a situation like this, where you had to choose? Feeling like you have to choose was brutal. She knew Roger had lived it for a month now and it broke her heart to think how much he had suffered for her. And it wasn’t even just him. Rafa too. She hadn’t actually talked to anyone about it but she knew Roger and Rafa enough to guess that Rafa must have supported Roger throughout the entire episode. And after so much, it wasn’t fair on them, and their relationship, that they were having to go through such a difficult period now. Somewhere, she felt like it was all her fault. It was because of her, at the end of the day, that these three weeks happened at all. None of them deserved the pain they were going through and that is exactly why this idea of sharing provided some relief. It gave hope to the idea that maybe they didn't have to choose after all. Hope that they could *all* be happy. It was a huge hope to have but it wasn't impossible. Because no one deserved anything bad here. No one.

She turned from the window and frowned. Myla had thrown off the covers for the third time tonight. She sighed and pulled them back over. The Air Conditioning was on full speed, it had to be because of the heat. But a full time AC meant a series of colds and coughs for the girls, should they not keep warm through the night. So Mirka had to make sure they were warm. It wasn't like she was finding much sleep tonight anyway so she figured she would just sit in the girls' room and watch them sleep. 

It was something she often did actually, over the years. Many nights had found her in the girls' room rather than her own. She liked to tell herself that it was because she could watch the girls peacefully at night as they were all over the place during the day. Deep within though, she knew that wasn't the only reason. At first it wasn't a conscious thing, to come to the girls. Then when she really thought about it, it occurred to her that she wandered to them whenever she started missing Roger too much. The girls, the mini reflections of their father that they were, were sometimes her only reminder that there was something she still shared with Roger other than tennis. That there had been a happy, loving relationship between them once upon a time. That they had brought these two beautiful beings to this world. It was so easy to forget relationships ever existed if you lived a life where you constantly worked to suppress their memories. You almost forgot it was ever there.

For so many years, her relationship with Roger was a thing of the past. A closed chapter. With the only reminder being their children and her own feelings for him, and even those she never really dwelled on too much. She had always discouraged herself from thinking too much about the past and her own feelings. So much so that it was almost weird to reconsider it now. Yes she always did love him. But that was different from actually living that way again wasn't it? So many years it had been since they spoke to each other about those memories. 

Roger living with her during her memory loss was different than them living together from here on. It was going to be much tougher. Her memory loss made everyone a bit helpless about everything. But it was almost liberating to be helpless. It was like a garb. Now, however, there was nothing to hide behind. For either of them. It was going to be a strange time ahead. She didn't know how it would work out. If it would work out. She didn't know what to expect from Roger anymore. She expected awkwardness and possible avoidance even, but apart from that she had no idea. About anything. They were planning to move in together after the Australian Open was over and they were back home. That way, Roger would have two weeks of living with Rafa on tour and two weeks of living with her at home - which is how it might work out in the long-run too. Rafa and Roger being together during tournaments was a long-time routine. And she preferred keeping things as close to before for Roger and Rafa as possible, even if this month did work out and they did actually start living like this. The closer things stayed to original patterns, the easier it would be for them to adjust to the new. It would help in avoiding any potential tensions and also actually accepting that they were sharing Roger. It would just turn into an automatic thing over time. Hopefully, that will also make it easier for Roger to make the switch in his head. Once new rhythms set in, everything would settle down. It was the first few months, or more correctly, the first month, which was more worrying.

Just three floors above where she was standing right now, was Rafa’s room. Where Roger was too. 

She sighed. This was not going to be an easy task for anyone. Especially for Rafa and Roger, who would be trying to reconfigure their relationship in a way that they never had to. She could see how nervous and zoned out Roger was on the way to Melbourne. She could see the frays of stress and tension in his behaviour. He constantly looked on the brink of an outburst. That didn't happen. Thank god. But he was close and that itself said a lot. This one-month trial was Ana's idea. Rafa had eventually agreed and so had Mirka. But Roger hadn't actually said much on the matter at all. He just went with it. He had been turning more and more passive about everything. It wasn't like Roger to not have an opinion on things. He was always very vocal and clear about everything he did. Nowadays though, it was like he just could not be bothered. He was happy to let other people dictate. And it wasn't just about the big things either. It was as much about the smaller things, the day-to-day things. That was even worse. Today morning, for instance, he ate porridge without a single complain or protest or even a frown. In all the years Mirka has known the man, eating porridge without frowning was unheard of from Roger. He simply did not protest anymore. About anything. She did not say anything but it was really worrying her now. 

The more she saw him this way, the more she thought this month was a good idea. This was a chance. To balance everything out. To get this huge psychological burden out of his system. To try something that might actually work. Because how long could this go on? It had to end. And this month might provide a chance. It wasn't ideal. Of course it wasn't. But it was practical. It could work, should they all try hard enough. 

Mirka really hoped their meeting had gone well tonight. She didn't know how Rafa was feeling about it all. It was obvious he wanted to try this for a month too but apart from that she didn't know where he was mentally. Other times, she would trust Rafa with anything and everything. This one was a weird situation though. There was a distinct possibility that Rafa would be hurt or annoyed or maybe even jealous. And the way Roger was acting these last few days, he was even more fragile than ever before. She honestly hoped nothing bad came out of this for anyone. 

Mirka knew Roger and Rafa to be in a very good relationship. She could see it the way they interacted. Rafa was never the overly talkative, clingy and showy partner. He was always very aware of the girls or others or even Mirka being around so he would almost always maintain a very dignified interaction with Roger in front of them. It was a decent touch, Mirka thought, for him to consider small things like that. But even then, their chemistry used to shine through as two individuals who really understood each other. She knew all that and still she was nervous. It wouldn’t be entirely unfounded to think that they might have a hard time to come to terms with each other, to adjust themselves again. It was hard to tell how they would react to seeing each other now. She hoped nothing would turn ugly though.

Mirka caught herself yawning. Fatigue was finally catching up with her. She got up, gave both Myla and Charlene a kiss on the head and walked out, gently closing the door behind her. 

The girls had been a big part of why she had agreed to this too, she knew. And she also knew that they would be on Roger’s mind too. They had worked hard so many years to give them as normal a childhood as possible, despite their problems. They had maintained their togetherness in front of them and had never hinted at any kind of trouble. Divorcing now would be actually pouring all that effort down the drain. The girls had no idea about anything. The sudden news that mum and dad were no longer going to stay together would tear their world down and the very thought repulsed her. It wasn’t just her and Roger who cared though, Rafa too was very attached to them, she knew. She had seen it in the way he spoke with them. They meant a lot to him. And he appreciated that she let him build a bond with them. 

She really hoped that whatever the result of this month, her relationship with Rafa would actually continue in a similar fashion. Like all these years. She didn't know if it would. But she really hoped. Because he was more than a dear friend, he was like a brother. She didn’t want to lose that.

She just wanted it all to work out.

Mirka knew she would be asking from herself a compromise on self-dignity and pride in sharing Roger, but she had seen how the alternative affected everyone. She had seen very closely how it affected Roger especially. And it scared her how much she was willing to sacrifice in order for it to not happen again. 

So in her head, it was pretty much final that should the month indeed work out, she would stay. With Roger. As the mother of his children. As his biggest supporter. And as his wife. Not just an official wife. Not just a legal wife. But a proper wife. Like all those years ago. Like in 2008. Like before.

They had weaved a web for themselves through the course of eighteen years. Some were his threads, some were hers, and others were theirs together. She couldn’t bring herself to cut this beautiful web, worth an entire lifetime, for the sake of pride. No. Because some things were just worth more than the others in life. And so she would choose those over everything else. Always.


	26. Chapter 26

Ever since they left for Melbourne and the prospect of meeting Rafa first came into view, Roger had been through a strange mix of emotions. 

Strange was the only word that could describe it. The part of him that had longed for the Spaniard’s company for a month just wanted to forget himself in Rafa’s arms. But the other part, the part that felt guilty, wanted to run away and hide somewhere. He had grown more and more restless as the day neared. What would he say to Rafa? What would Rafa say to him? How would he react to being around Roger? Would he still love him? Or would he hate him now? 

The rational part of Roger’s mind knew that it wasn't going to be so bad. It had been Rafa, along with Mirka, who had insisted on this one month trial. He couldn't be hating Roger if he had insisted on this. And yet, Roger couldn't help feeling this way. Roger hadn't wished for things to turn this way, he hadn't wished for this month to pan out the way it did, he hadn't wished for falling in love with Mirka. It wasn't exactly his fault, he did know that. But he still felt responsible for everything that happened. It was all because of him. None of this would happen if he had that damn head of his under control. Hate or no hate, Rafa wouldn't be the same with him anymore, he was almost convinced about that. 

By the time he had actually gotten to Rafa’s room, he had been a wreck. He was surprised his legs had carried him here without giving in. There had been a part of him that almost wanted to turn around and leave. But he didn't. Of course he didn't. He wanted to see Rafa. To see if he was alright. He wanted to cuddle him and comfort him. He wanted to feel Rafa’s warmth and let everything else drift, for some time at least. He had wandered to the bedroom but had found the room empty. Rafa wasn’t in. The wait which followed was the worse, although he was sure it couldn't have been more than ten minutes.

When he had finally heard Rafa come in, time had simply stopped. The next thing he knew was that he was enveloped in Rafa’s arms. Roger didn't even realise that he had hugged back just as eagerly. 

It had taken a few long moments for him to even register the hug properly. The stress had built up to the point of breaking in him and it wouldn't leave easily. But still, there was comfort here. In this moment. Right now. So Roger let himself be. 

Time had still been a bit of muddle. He didn't know how many minutes had passed since Rafa came in the room. Or how long they had been standing in the middle of the room, hugging. But at some point, he remembered feeling Rafa’s lips on his. He remembered the sheer tenderness in his touch. Almost like he wasn't sure what to expect. Rafa didn’t seem angry, going by his actions. Quite the opposite, in fact - he was so being careful, almost cautious. It was strange for Rafa to be like that. Roger’s heart had ached at that. He didn't want Rafa feeling like that. He wanted him to be confident and energetic like he always was. Not unsure and tentative, like Roger would break with his touch. So Roger had made it a point to kiss him back just as earnestly, just as softly, just as reassuringly - in the hope that it would calm Rafa down, even if only a bit. 

Again he didn't know how long they had kissed for. He was almost beginning to calm down himself, when Rafa had pulled him in closer. It wasn't intentional he could tell, but it was enough to set his nerves on fire again and open the flood gates that he had been trying to close since he had stepped into the room. Moments from the last month crashed into him like a bullet train and he almost felt sick. This was it. This is what he had been scared of all along. Every touch from Rafa would remind him of his time with Mirka and he wouldn't be able to keep the memories from coming and it will all feel horrible. He would hate himself. The guilt would tear him apart. That's what happened when he first started living Mirka a month ago. That is what will happen now too. And he didn't have the strength to go through it again. The guilt, the memories, the conflicts. They'll all eat him alive. They'll chase him in his dreams. They'll haunt his days. Just the possibility was enough to send a chill down his spine. 

No. He didn't want this. Not now. Not yet. 

Roger tried breaking the kiss. He didn't want to startle Rafa because he knew this was hard for him too. But he needed to stop. 

Roger was trying his best to be subtle about it and not make Rafa feel bad, but when Rafa tightened his grip even more, he couldn't help bringing his hands up to put some distance between them. He could feel panic creep into his mind. Why wouldn't Rafa let him go? Usually he was very receptive to Roger’s needs. He was always very careful in the way he treated him. So why was still holding on? Roger wasn't trying to push Rafa away. He just needed time. He needed space. He needed to stop. Now. 

Roger had started to feel really uncomfortable with it by that point. He tried putting a small amount of force into parting with Rafa. Still nothing. The Spaniard made no move to let him go. Instead, Roger had felt a knife-sharp flash of pain on his bottom lip. His patience snapped at that and he pushed Rafa away decidedly. He couldn't believe Rafa had done that. What was he trying to accomplish? He had stared at Rafa then, anger and hurt muddling his mind. 

Roger took in a deep breath and decided to try again. 

“Raf, let go. Please. Give me some time to adjust to this” 

“Adjust to what Rogi?” 

“To this. You. Mirka.” he sighed, exacerbated. What was wrong with Rafa today, he really couldn't understand. “To sharing you two. It's difficult, okay? It's- just leave me please” 

“Time will not help you adjust no, Roger. We have to face it. I no let you run away for a month. If we try, we try like we mean it. Or it will never work no?” 

Roger shook his head. Why was he doing this? Roger wanted him to let go. It wasn't that hard to do. “Let me go Rafa” 

“You need to get over it Roger. Today.” 

“Raf-“ 

Even before he could understand what was happening, his hands were held in a tight grip and he was being pulled forward. Their lips crashed with worrying force and Roger felt anger and panic and fear course through him like lightening. Rafa, his Rafa, was forcing himself onto him? He couldn't believe this was happening. He had been hoping to just snuggle with Rafa and do nothing and now here he was, being practically pushed into doing something he didn't want at all. The fact that this was Rafa, of all people, hurt even more. No, not hurt. It enraged him. He could feel himself resisting Rafa but he wouldn't relent. Why? Why was he hurting Roger? Wasn’t he fine a moment ago? What happened now? Was he angry with him all along anyway? Was this his way of taking out his anger? Was this his reaction to Roger falling in love with Mirka? Was this an act of reclaiming Roger, in some twisted way? Was this where Roger had taken their relationship now? To hurt and revenge and force? Thoughts were racing through his head but he realised that nothing he was thinking was being translated into actions anymore. He had now gone pretty limp actually - letting his lover do what he wanted. But in his mind, he was screaming. He didn't want this. 

He had been so absorbed in his own thoughts, he had barely noticed the softness of the mattress under him. He hadn't even noticed getting pushed on the bed. Every passing moment, he was going to dread this even more. Rafa was angry. He didn’t love Roger anymore. Rafa would have never done that, he would have never pushed Roger into bed if he didn’t want it. But hold on, did he actually get pushed onto the bed? No he didn't get pushed on bed. He was gently laid on the bed. There was a difference. Rafa wasn't actually being aggressive at all. In fact, he was being... even softer than before. 

Roger opened his eyes to see Rafa looking at him. To his surprise, there wasn't any trace of anger on his face. Rather it was the most beautiful, soft and tender expression Roger had ever seen on Rafa’s face. His eyes found Rafa’s and all he saw in them was love. Not jealously, not lust, not hatred. Nothing of what he had been thinking only a moment ago. It was Rafa. The Rafa that he knew. The Rafa that he loved. The Rafa that he admired. With his soft features accentuated in the warm lights of the room. With the pink that caressed his cheeks and the beauty that laced his body. Shouldn't Rafa be annoyed though? What he had just done a few moments ago was anything but gentle in its nature? Surely he must be angry with Roger. He didn’t seem like it though. Roger wanted to ask what the matter with Rafa was. He wanted to know why he was acting like this. He wanted to know if Rafa was angry with him. But he couldn’t find the words. He just looked at Rafa, who looked beautiful and soothing. Like always.

He felt a hand stroke his cheek and leaned into the touch. And when Rafa leaned in to nibble at his ear, he could hear his breathing, he could feel his warmth, he could smell the scent that was all Rafa’s. The touch on his skin was soft and wet. It was laced with a mixture of care and passion. The fingers felt feather-soft wherever they touched, leaving him tingling in their tracks. He felt Rafa caress him like he was the most precious treasure. There was nothing else in this moment apart from Rafa. It was just Rafa. Roger felt his eyes slide close. His hands traced over Rafa’s back. The texture of his back was smooth and slick under his fingers. Soft skin coated with a sheen of sweat, which made it even softer. Rafa. Beautiful Rafa. All Roger wanted was to savour him. To feel him. To love him. Everything else had just melted away and he didn’t even realise.

\--- 

Rafa had his right arm across Roger’s chest and his right leg thrown between Roger’s legs. Like he always did whenever they slept together. Their sweaty bodies clung to each other in the heat of the room. Rafa’s breathing was slow and rhythmic. Like always. His head resting on Roger’s shoulder. Like always. Roger moved his fingers through his lover's hair. They were soft to touch. Rafa made a face and shook his head, trying to shake off Roger’s fingers. Roger smiled and took his fingers back. Rafa liked his beauty sleep. So he let him sleep in peace. 

He was struck with a sense of deja-vu. This night could be a month ago, when the night had found them just like right now. Rafa with himself almost on top of Roger and Roger staring at the ceiling in the quiet room. This could be their home in the Swiss Alps. This could be before everything that happened between then and now. 

But he knew it wasn’t. A lot had happened between then and now. And tonight was a very different night than that one. In a little part of his mind, he almost expected a phone call to crush the silence any moment now. But that was only a silly part of his mind and he made it point to not pay it much attention. Instead he decided to very carefully tip-toe into his own mind. Possibly, it was a slight risk to start prodding too much right now. It was like poking a healing wound. You had to be very careful, lest it start bleeding again. But he needed some answers.

Past experience conditions you. And Roger knew the last month conditioned him to fear memories. His anxiousness earlier, his half-reluctance to come here, his apprehensiveness had all been expressions of that fear. That memories would come back to haunt him in one way or another. That as soon as Rafa touches him, he would automatically be reminded of Mirka and that would trigger all the emotions he had learnt to dread by now. It was a natural process. He could see that even as it happened. It was another story he wasn’t able to do anything about it. Fear closes down rationality. And that’s what had happened. But every conditioning needed a de-conditioning. And in many ways, it felt like tonight was proving that. 

He was pushed earlier, no doubt, but he wasn’t angry. Not at all. His first reaction was panic, then hurt and then anger. Now though, he felt none. Roger felt what he would class as a mild version of hope. Hope was something he had not felt in a long time. He felt it now and he took the risk of letting the tiny spark bloom and grow. It felt good.

He hadn’t realised in the moment itself but now, looking back, he felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his heart. Like a huge barrier had been broken in that one moment where he just let go and welcomed Rafa into his mind wholeheartedly. May be that was it. That is what he needed to do. To be comfortable with himself. To just let go and accept. Instead of hold on and feel nervous. May be it was about setting yourself free from yourself. Roger reckoned he had been a captive of his own mind all these days. Isn’t everyone though, he thought. We are all captives of the various things that have influenced our lives. It is who we are, it is what makes us an individual – whether it be how we have been brought up, what we have come to judge as right or wrong or what we have come to see as our principles. It is all in the head, it is all in the mind. Your own mind is your biggest limitation *and* your biggest liberation. As a youngster, his talent was always there. It was never about what is actually there in the outside world. It was always about his own mind. Only after he trained his mind to behave and think a certain way, could he unleash his true potential. Till then, he was an empty vessel almost. Nothing was beyond the mind. The key to everything was always within. Here, was it not the same? His conflicts, his emotions, his guilt, his shame. All his own – within him. The moment had prompted him, pushed him, but in the end, he had to let go himself. It had to come from within him. 

He knew it was all still raw. It was possible that tomorrow morning he would feel different. It was also possible that those ugly feelings would come back in some shape or form. They wouldn’t just disappear entirely, he knew that. But perhaps now, he knew how to deal with them. Perhaps now, he knew to welcome them instead of run away. Perhaps now, he wouldn’t fear them but rather control them. Because, it was all in the head. And by doing that, maybe, just maybe… 

The scenario was nowhere near perfect. The intricacies of workings-out were yet to be carved. The details of how to manage time were yet to be chalked out. The refinements in routines and patterns were still to be made. There was a lot which was not sorted. A lot which was not polished over. A lot which demanded attention. And this the process of sorting things out could also cause friction. It could also cause tensions. But now he would know how to approach them. And maybe, just maybe…

Roger tightened his arm around Rafa, pulling him closer. And Rafa responded by tightening his arm around Roger in turn. Holding him. Anchoring him. Reminding him that he still loved him.

And Roger felt that spark of hope flourish a little more. That maybe it was all going to okay. Maybe it could work. Maybe it was not so complicated. Maybe they would he could handle his emotions better from now on. Maybe he could adopt to this potential lifestyle. Maybe he could have faith in himself and allow himself to believe. Maybe he could actually deal with being in love with two people. And maybe it was going to be okay. Maybe it wasn't greedy. Maybe it wasn't selfish. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't so disgusting and wrong and self-demeaning as he had thought. It would take time to sink in perhaps. It would also take effort. It would take patience and will. It will not be easy, by any means.

But he caught the hope in his heart. He let it nourish him, soothe him, heal him. He let it spread its wings and take him. He let himself believe that maybe, just maybe… it might all actually work out.

~FIN~


	27. Chapter 27

~Epilogue~

His hair stuck out at odd angles and the right leg of his pyjama bottoms had rolled upto his thigh whilst the other one stayed down. He stood at the window, holding his head with one hand and rubbing his eye with the other. The perfect image of a hangover. 

She bit her lip and padded over, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her head on his back.

“Congratulations, number one” she said quietly

He tilted his head back and rested it on hers. She heard him smile and mumble a soft thank you.

She smiled, “press in an hour”

“Meh” 

“I know. Meh”

He turned to face her. His face was tired but his expression was joyful. It reflected her own face she reckoned.

“Swiss press should leave me alone a bit”

She nodded, agreeing with him. 

Today was the last day of the one month trial. 

He smiled again and leaned in, giving her the softest of kisses. She kissed back.

“All packed for tonight?” his voice was still rough from sleep.

“Yep” so was hers.

He nodded, grinning from ear to ear. They were leaving for Valbella tonight. For a long holiday. Him, her and the girls. 

A proper family holiday. For the first time in eight years. 

She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. His arms were around her and he held her just tight enough for her to feel warm and fuzzy. He placed a gentle kiss on her head and she smiled, eyes still closed. Perhaps the deja-vu had ended differently afterall. This time, perhaps better for all of them.

They did have time for some cuddling still, so they let each other just be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks,
> 
> The journey ends here :) 
> 
> I really hope you've enjoyed reading this. Thank you so much for all your kind comments throughout. 
> 
> This is my first fic as you all know, so I would've never gotten through without all the encouragement, feedback and support you provided!
> 
> Thank you once again!
> 
> I'd love to know what you think about it, please do let me know!!
> 
> Any parts you particularly liked, didn't like, felt most sad about, or happy about? I'd really like to know (also for future fics ;) cos I'm locked now!) 
> 
> It's been incredible! XD
> 
> xx


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